‘Liar,’ he whispers hotly in my ear from behind.
His cologne today is more citrus than spice; a clean, crisp scent that seems to prove my olfactory system is linked to the bunch of nerve ending between my legs. Or maybe it’s his voice, or the pheromones he’s throwing out at such proximity. Whatever it is, it’s inconvenient.
‘Let me out.’
‘I’m not keeping you here.’ There’s a hint of a chuckle in his statement. ‘It’s not my fault you can’t work out how to use a door.’
‘This isn’t a door. It’s more like a portal to hell.’
‘You have a flair for the dramatic, Olivia,’ his low tone rasps. ‘But you weren’t acting on Friday evening. Admit it.’
‘Go to hell.’
‘I thought we were already there.’
His body hovers over mine without touching, but I feel the power restrained in him anyway. My eyes fall to where his hand presses against the glass, his long fingers splayed. A strong wrist under a French cuff with a silver cuff link. I have the mad idea to bite him there over the dusting of sandy hair and tan skin. To press my teeth and leave my mark.
Of course, I don’t. I might get rabies or something.
He dips his head, his lips just a breath from my ear, a bloom of heated anticipation bursting in response at my core. I can’t explain my body’s reaction. My head and my senses at war. I don’t even like him, so how come I’m so turned on?
His breath tantalises my ear, my own clouding, then evaporating against the cool glass as silence trickles between us, building heat and need.
‘You were so wet.’ His whisper is the bedroom kind and without taunt or harsh inflection. And that feeling inside me? It almost bursts. ‘Admit it. You wanted me to fuck you right there on the back seat.’
‘Does that turn you on?’ My answer sounds more strangled than I’d like it to as I turn to face him, head on. ‘Did it get you hot to leave me there? Is that your kink?’
I turn my head and am met by those startling eyes, flecks of amber dancing like fire, or maybe the souls of the damned.But in the face of my taunting questions, Beckett just smirks.
‘That’s really bothering you, isn’t it? Don’t worry, sweetheart. You are irresistible. Well, almost.’
‘And I stand by my previous statement. You’re a prick.’
‘I’m the prick who’d put money on the fact you’re wet now, too.’
‘No, you’re the prick who might have found out on both occasions if you were anyone but you.’
‘Perhaps I decided one night would never be enough.’
‘So you propose?’ I reply with a disbelieving snort.
‘Perhaps I couldn’t trust myself with you.’ His hand lifts from the glass, the back of his knuckle ghosting my brow, my cheek, my jaw. And like a fool, I allow him.
‘Haven’t we already established that flattery will get you absolutely nowhere with me?’
‘Come now, I don’t think that’s true. You were certainly open to a little adoration Friday night.’
‘Exactly. I might’ve put out. So why push me away only to then ask me to marry you?’
‘The two things are separate. Our marriage would be a business proposition with all details laid out in a contract.’
‘You have problems.’ Instead of pushing him away, my insults seem to be having the opposite effect and have brought him closer. And why am I allowing him to take my laptop bag out of my hand?
‘There are many forms of gratification, Olivia.’
‘Meaning you get your kicks out of tormenting women?’ I ask saccharine sweet.
‘Don’t do that,’ he says, his fierce brows now pinched. ‘Don’t pretend to be something you’re not.’ His words sting like a reprimand, but I don’t have the chance to retort as his index finger tips my chin, his eyes searching every inch of my face. ‘What happened that night has nothing to do with my offer. But make no mistake, I did want to fuck you. Ido.’
