“Trapped in a loveless marriage?”
“Who needs love when we have chemistry.”
“You should put that in a greeting card. You’d make a fortune.”
“I have a fortune. And you don’t want falsehoods and niceties.”
“Wooing, you mean?”
“You don’t need that shit. You already look at me like you want to fuck me.”
And… I have nothing. Not a comeback in my head. Mainly because it’s full of dirty images. My stomach flips as he takes my hand. Only, he doesn’t lead me to the bed, but rather, back to the bathroom. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed (also, I am a liar) as he opens a saucer-sized hatch, which I wouldn’t have noticed given it blends with the tile. He plucks up my T-shirt, and a quiet whisper sounds from the gap. As he lifts the black cotton closer, the thing is sucked from his hand.
“I don’t know about posh people…” his words trail away.
“You? Of course you don’t.” My answer isnotin the same tone. “Hey!”
He plucks away my knickers next.
“Pretty.” The black gossamer scrap dangle from the tip of his index finger. “I like how you color coordinate,” he says, studying them.
“With my mood, you mean?”
He doesn’t answer as he swings them closer to the chute. They too are sucked away.
“I’ll be impressed when they come back washed and pressed all by themselves,” I mutter, stuffing my jeans and socks in after them. “Rich people are so—”
I begin to turn when I find myself spinning further—faster—than I anticipated. My palms hit the cool stone vanity and I arch my back, my body seeming to understand this opportunity faster than my brain.
As our eyes meet in the mirror, him with his hot gaze and me with the needy pull between my legs. He takes my hips in his hands as he brings those chiseled lips to my ear.
“My lady disdain.” His voice is low, the words a bare breath.
“I’m not—” My lids flutter, my argument instinctual. I’m not what? A smart arse, full of contempt for anything I don’t have, that I don’t understand? A woman who still feels like that little girl uncomfortable in her own skin?
I gasp as his teeth nip my fleshy lobe.
“You’re determined to make every moment hard, aren’t you?”
I forget the rest of my denial—I don’t even make a quip—as he flexes into me, the kind of hard I yearn for a thickness pressed against me. I close my eyes at the sight of his wicked expression and the rush of warmth between my legs.
“Lavender.” My name is an exhalation as his hands slips between my legs. I give in to a quiet groan as he grips my inner thigh. “Why does everything have to be an argument with you?” My T-shirt stretches as he hooks the neck with his finger,bestowing a sucking kiss to the place my shoulder and neck meets.
“I don’t mean for it to be.”
His chuckle is whisper soft as it slides across the back of my neck. “You are such a pretty little liar.”
The noise I make is animal, indelicate, my body bucking against him as he cups me between my legs. His long middle finger curls, stroking over the fabric.
“Tell the truth.”
I give a ragged sounding moan as he rotates his palm, pressuring my clit just right. But I’m telling the truth. There’s just something inside me that chooses mayhem and anarchy over rational expression. I suppose it doesn’t take the brain of Briton to work out my personality is my amour.
“I can’t help it.” A rush of discomfort washes over my skin. “You just bring out the worst in me.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
It’s not all of it.
