Page 49 of Contention

“Oh, dreadful,” he drawls unsympathetically. “Watch that mouth of yours. It’s too early for me to be listening to that vitriol you spew.” He gestures to the seat beside him at the quaint little table. “Come sit down and eat. You’re unbearable.”

Every time he demands she do something, it’s on the tip of her tongue to say,yes dad.Ridiculous.

Scowling in her typical brooding fashion, she flops down into the seat next to him, sipping her coffee, reaching for a piece of fruit from the bowl in the center. Absently, she moves her hair to one side. At that action, Calais inhales sharply and looks at her, a faint look of amused confusion on his stone cut features. “Are you-” He starts and stops abruptly, eyebrows furrowing even as his lips smile. “Are you wearingmycologne?”

Kara bites into an apple with a satisfying crunch, giving him a blank stare, daring him to lean over and confirm that, yes, she’s sprayed the ever-loving crap out of his cologne onto her skin. Idly, she asks instead, “Interesting crew you have. Just a typical Friday night for you and your buddies? Going out again tonight? New girls to slake your twisted thirsts upon?”

“Stop fishing, Kara.” His tone goes dangerously flat.

Huffing with irritation, because she just doesn’t understand why such well-to-do men would choose to resort to such base activities. Then again, perhaps she doesn’t want to know the answer. Power? Control? “The blonde is the co-owner of theDark Mirage, isn’t he? As in, Dietrich Bittinger? He’sa treat.”

Putting down his newspaper with a snap, folding it on the table, Calais sips from his coffee with practiced care and gives her a warning glance. “He’s not the co-owner; he’s the financier. You’d do well to not catch his attention, if you’ve got it in your head to take a fancy to himnext. That’s a game you definitely won’t win.”

The way he says ‘next’ raises Kara’s hackles. Like she’s a gold-digging whore going down the line of rich men that she’s trying to entrap with her feminine wiles. “All of you are pigs. I wasn’t inside for more than one minute and Walter Goatee Man was trying to grope my ass and pull me over his lap.” Kara scowls. “What is with you guys?”

Calais rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who climbed into the limo. Girls who do that are only after one thing. He just assumed the same of you.” No longer holding his newspaper, Calais puts both feet on the ground and spreads his legs wide, a casual confidence in the motion.

Briefly, Kara looks and wonders if she can see the outline of his junk in the soft sweatpants material. If a man is going to manspread so obviously, he must be fine with anyone ogling the goods. In fact, sometimes she thinks that’s the very reason some men do it when they so blatantly shift; where else are you supposed to look when it’sright in your face?

Her eyes run up the veins in his arms, looking at his biceps. He’s got some buff weight there, in his arms. Not the whipcord thin muscle of younger men, but bulkier, a little weight to them. His pectorals are easily seen through the way his shirt hugs him. Idly, Kara wonders if his stomach is softer, especially around the hips.

She shouldn’t be looking at him this way, but he’s not in a suit and there’s so much to see…

His eyes are on her, boring into her face, tracing her features carefully. Kara wonders if she looks too young without any makeup to hide behind. Wonders if he’s turned off by it, because she doesn’t look like a mature woman closer to his age. Like a woman confident in herself and who she is.

Then again, she shouldn’t care; he’s vile.

“Is that so? Are you saying you think I was ready to play hooker again last night?” Kara wants to claw his face open, dance around in his intestines, throw his hot coffee across his chest.

No, don’t do that, just exhale, nice and slow…

The tightness around his jaw intensifies and his eyes narrow. “Don’t start.”

“Are you disappointed,” Kara bares her teeth in an unpleasant grin. “Did you expect me to go down on you again? Maybe you should have traded with Bittinger last night after all; then maybe you would have gotten some.”

Now, he snorts, looking away from her dismissively. “You would have certainly rued the day if I had given you to him. Then, you’dreallybe a slag.”

He’s driving her mad, not taking her seriously. Laughing at her. Mocking her. “Isn’t that what you wanted from me?”

Anger spikes in her chest and his characteristic indifference of her makes Kara want to ruffle his stupid peacock feathers. Even this early in the morning he’s nearly unflappable and she wants to ruin it. She wants to make him lose his perfect control, wants to be the one to reduce him to something else.

Kara wants her revenge and she wants it in a physical way, so she can feel it in her bones and taste it on her tongue. She wants blood under her fingernails. His eyes are like a winter vacation in the tropics and his lips are mocking, his body relaxed like a calm predator, so sure of his dominance.

She doesn’t even want to fight the vicious urge that rises inside of her, the one that wants-

Fast, before she can lose her anger and her nerve, she leans over and grabs him by the back of the head roughly, so that he doesn’t have a choice and doesn’t have time to stop her.

He makes a noise of protest, unsure of her intent. With a certain amount of aggression, her mouth crashes over his, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. He groans, either in pain or whatever, Kara doesn’t really give a flying hoot.

It’s vicious and unpleasant, as far as kisses go. More of a fight than a kiss, actually. Just the way Kara likes it; contention. His hands are clenching the arms of his chair, like he’s fighting to not grab her in retaliation as their teeth click together in a flash of fury.

Burying her fingers in his soft hair, Kara deepens the kiss, nipping at him, running her tongue against his lips, no prisoners taken. He makes a sound deep in his throat, gasping against her mouth, heat pooling inside of Kara in a wave. God, she wants this to hurtand it does.

She wants to tear into his soul and burn away them both until they’re nothing but ash. She wants her nails in his flesh, so deep that he’ll scar, so maybe then he can feel what it’s like to be her.

There’s a building ache between her thighs and Kara clenches her legs, trying to alleviate the pressure. He’s like a drug; he’s bad for her and she wants more. Calais tastes like coffee, dark and devious. Like sin, like crime, like a lot of pain and tears.

She never expected him to let her control a kiss. He’s been docile, low sounds in his chest. The clench of his hands on the chair are her only sign thathe’s holding himself back. She’s not nice, she’s rough with him, her fingernails in his scalp. Hell, she’s halfway out of her seat and into his, sitting up on her knees for leverage, her free hand pinning his shoulder down as she moves his head the way she wants with her other hand.

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