Page 74 of Fiery Romance

I lean forward and brush a strand of her long white hair off her shoulder. For a style so attention-grabbing, it looks unusually classy on her.

The muscles in her neck flex as she holds herself still. I can practically see the sparks shooting from her eyes. From the anger? From the chemistry between us?

I don’t know.

I only know that when I lean forward, her body bends toward mine. Like steel to a magnet. Helpless against the tension.

I say nothing.

She tilts her head up. Her smile says she believes she has the upper hand. “The big, bad military man can’t handle the truth?”

She’s prodding.

A very bad idea to poke at a hornet’s nest and not expect to get bitten.

In an instant, I’m in her space. She gasps when the rim of the desk presses into her back. I pin her there, allowing her chest to whisper across mine.

My body remembers the hug and wants more.

More touching.

Less clothes.

I grit my teeth. “I have allowed you certain freedoms because you are involved in my daughter’s life.” I claw my gaze over her dark face, needing to feel something, anything other than this mixture of frustration and excitement. “But that is not an invitation to open your mouth,” I lift my hand to her throat and brush a thumb over her lower lip because my body and my brain are no longer in agreement, “and place your foot in it.”

Her eyebrows tighten. Beneath her dark skin, there’s a slight, almost indecipherable flush. I’ve smashed through that mask. Tapped into the real, fiery creature hidden beneath the smiles and constant chatter.

“I can place whatever I want in my mouth,” she says sharply.

And for a beat, I imagine all the things I can fill her mouth with.

There’s an almost painful tug in my pants.

Her mind must go in the same direction because air hisses out of her lungs and she stammers, “Th-that’s not what I meant.”

“Of course not.” I’m coiled to within an inch of my skin, but I do find her flustered state amusing.

“I have a boyfriend,” she adds. As if that should cut off the attraction between us.

My hackles rise at the reminder. I don’t want her talking about another man. Touching another man. Breathing another man’s air.

Then doesn’t that mean you want her?

The whiplash frustrates me even further.

“You have a situation, not a boyfriend,” I say darkly. Curtly.

Her long lashes brush against her cheeks and she does not dispute me. Interesting.

I smooth my hand over her arms as something dawns on me. “Is that why you’re trying to get close to my family, Miss Hayes? To use me as some kind of bargaining chip with your lover?”

Her nostrils flare. She slams a fist into my chest. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You’re mistaken. I don’t have a habit of bedding my employees.”

Her eyes glitter with rage. “Cut the crap, Clay. You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Then why—”

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