“Or what? You’ll name-call? Do it. Give me a reason.”
“A reason for what?”
“To stop pretending.”
The air left her in a rush. Her fingers, clenched at her sides, opened. They brushed a coat by her thigh.
I lowered my head. My mouth was inches from hers. I could taste her breath—champagne and mint. “You hate it,” I murmured. “The pretending. The smiling. My hand on your back for the cameras. You hate it so much your skin burns.”
She didn’t deny it. A tremor went through her.
“You think I don’t feel it?” I continued, the words rough. “You think I’m too much of a brute to see how you go stiff when I’m near? How you look at me like a problem?”
“You are a problem.”
“Then solve me.”
I didn’t kiss her. I held the space, let the offer sit there, sharp and quiet. My whole body was a tight wire. The ache in my groin was a deep, demanding throb. I wanted to push her into the coats, hike up that dress, and take the fight from her. I wanted her sharp mouth quiet, then loud with something else.
Her chest rose, the silk pressing to me. The soft weight of her breasts brushed my chest. Heat shot through me.
Her hand came up. Not to push. Her fingers hovered at my lapel, then settled. Not a caress. An anchor. Her knuckles were white.
“I hate you,” she breathed. It sounded like truth flipped on its axis.
“I know.”
I closed the last space.
My mouth crashed down on hers.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, a release of all the frustration, the simmering rage of the last weeks. Her lips were soft, and she made a sound—a muffled gasp—that went straight to my cock. I swallowed it, slanting my head, taking the kiss deeper.
She didn’t fight.
Her fingers fisted in my lapel, pulling me closer. Her other hand found my jaw, her touch burning. She kissed me back with a fury that matched mine, all teeth and pressure. It was a fight. A silent war where her tongue met mine, where her body arched, where the tension between us caught fire.
I groaned into her mouth, the sound torn from my chest. I cupped the back of her head, my hand in her hair, holding her as I took her. The taste of her was madness. Champagne and mint and her. And tonic I could drink from and never tire.
She whimpered. The vibration sang through my lips. Her hips pressed forward, finding the hard line of me. A jolt. She rocked, a slow grind that blurred my vision.
I broke the kiss, breathing ragged. “Fuck.”
Her eyes were wide, dark. Her lips were swollen. She stared up, panting.
“You want to stop?” I ground out. Every cell screamed no.
She shook her head, sharp. Her hands slid to my shoulders, gripping. “I want you to shut up.”
She pulled me back down.
This kiss was slower, a drowning pull. I let go. One hand slid from her hair down her spine, to the small of her back. I pressed her into me, erasing the space. I felt every curve through the fabric.
My other hand moved. It slid down her side, over the silk, to her thigh. I gathered the material, my fingers digging in. I hitched her leg up around my hip. She gasped, her balance going, and I took her weight, pinning her to the coats.
The new angle was ruin. The heart of her was against my hip. Even through the layers, I felt her heat. I rocked, a slow roll of my hips.
She cried out, muffling it against my shoulder. Her head fell back. I didn’t wait. I buried my face in her throat. I licked the salt, then nipped. She shuddered, her fingers clawing my back.