I clear my throat, trying to regain my self-control. “Yeah, well, some of us have to be on set at the butt crack of dawn,” I growl.
“Oh,I’m sorry.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “Is the big Hollywood star having trouble sleeping?” she baby-talks me quirking an eyebrow before she growls, “Maybe you should try a hotel.”
Pretty sure I’ve hit a new level of fucked when it comes toLizzy Cade. My jaw aches from all the damn grinding. By this point I’m surprised I have any teeth left at all. Everything she does sets my libido on edge.
Fuck, this is some next-level bullshit.
My heart rate kicks up a notch as she faces off with me, hands on her hips, eyes blazing like the sexy as hell spitfire she is.
Jesus.
Every raging teenage hormone I thought I’d let go of comes rushing back. My cock thickens against the buttons of my jeans, and it takes everything in me not to throw her over my shoulder and smack her ass.
My girl is so sexy it hurts.
Wait. My girl?
The realization hits me hard. She’s always been my girl. Always been in my heart and owned a piece of my soul. Even when we weren’t together.
I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my temper. “Look, I didn’t come over here to start a fight. I just need to run some lines and get some sleep.”
“And I need to paint,” she fires back, eyes narrowing as she slams the paintbrush down on the table. “This is my home. I can do whatever I want.”
“Come on, Iz. I’ve had a long fucking day.”
A brief look of guilt flickers across her face before she schools her expression back to one of annoyance. “Fine. I’ll keep it down.”
An awkward silence settles between us as I stand there, unsure if I should leave or try to say something else. Being this close to her after all these years is messing with my head. All I can think about is how much I’ve missed her face, her fire, even herstubbornness.
I take a step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet my gaze. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “It helps me relax. What’re you gonna do about it?”
The need to be inside her hits me hard. My cock is straining against my jeans and it takes everything in me not to grab her and pull her against me.
Lowering my voice to a low rumble, I lean in a tad closer. “I can think of so many other ways to help you relax.”
Her eyes widen, pupils dilating as she takes in the look on my face. I watch her throat bob as she swallows, and suddenly I’m intensely aware of how little space I’ve left between us.
“Pretty sure you’re all talk, Hollywood,” she murmurs, a slight tremor in her voice.
One step closer eliminates what little space remains. “Oh? You think so?”
Her breath hitches as I reach up and brush my thumb across the smudge of crimson on her cheek. The gesture is intimate, familiar—as if we’ve done this a thousand times before. Because technically, we have.
She doesn’t move. If anything, she leans imperceptibly closer, her green eyes, full of defiance, locked on mine.
“I think,” she says, her voice low and husky, “that you should go back to your apartment and let me get back to work.”
“Is that what you really want?” I ask, voice low and guttural.
The tension between us is so thick you could (here comes the cliché) cut it with a knife. Fifteen years of unresolved feelings, hurt, and desire all compressed into this single moment.
A combination of scents—paint and something floral and spicy—wafts under my nose.
“What I want,” she says carefully, “is for you to stop looking at me like that.”
I tilt my head with a smirk. “Like what, Iz?”
