She whipped around, practically huffing with fury. He was fuming too, and seeing her rounded hips twitch as she stormed off wasnothelping matters.
Only a few steps behind her, he followed with the bags in hand. As soon as they reached the guest room, he dropped the bags on the floor and closed the door to trap her inside.
“I’m trying to keep you safe, Shiloh.”
“And I want you to keep me safe. I don’t want to end up in the hands of the Russian mobster setting up attacks around the country.”
Agitated, she snatched a bag off the floor and a pair of black panties flew out. They both stared at the scrap of silk.
That was not how he envisioned getting her panties on the floor.
He had to get control of the situation before things took a turn for the worse. “If you and I want the same thing, why are we arguing?”
“Because you were ordering me around like I’m some kind of ranch dog!” Her chest heaved, pushing against the black borrowed top.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “God, you’re beautiful when you’re mad.”
She opened her mouth and shut it around a gulp.
He didn’t realize he’d taken a step toward her until his boot landed on the floor.
She balled her fists. “Yeah? Well, you’re not so bad yourself!”
“You about done yelling at me?”
“Maybe! Why?”
“Because this.” He hooked his hand around her nape and yanked her mouth to his. He crushed his lips over hers with absolutely no regard for the bite she’d given him on their wedding day—and might again.
Chapter Seven
Shiloh’s lips were on fire. Her body was on fire. Her nipples where they brushed against Oaks’s chest wereblazing.
The thunder of her heart in her ears silenced the sounds coming from other parts of the house. She almost blocked out a male voice from another room answering the phone until the words “Black Heart Security” broke through her haze of desire.
She was kissing her bodyguard.
Did it matter?
She tried to pull away, but Oaks was having none of that. He clamped his other hand on her waist and yanked her onto tiptoe, turning her toward the bed in the same move as if they were dancing.
She hated how highhanded he was even as her body bowed toward him for more, like roots reached for water or a flower stretching toward the sun.
Angling his head, he slanted his mouth over hers, dipping his tongue between her lips as he did. The first taste of him burst on her tongue. Coffee, mint and man.
On a moan she couldn’t hold back, her lips parted for him.
He backed her toward the bed, his tongue swiping over hers in long passes that dizzied her. Her panties flooded, and her nipples…oh god, if he didn’t touch them soon, she was going to start begging.
When he wedged his thick, muscled thigh between hers, she issued a low cry and wantonly rubbed her aching pussy against it. If this was what they called fight or fuck, she understood the allure.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging him down on the bed with her. His weight pressed her into the mattress, and the length of his erection flush against her pussy was a bliss she didn’t want to live without.
“Christ, honey. You said you can kiss, but I didn’t know you were going to make me so damn hard from it.”
She let out a soft noise of want and guided his mouth down to her throat.
He skimmed his palm under her top, walking up her ribs to her breast.