Page 24 of Hold You Close
So why did he kiss me today?
Why is there still this spark between us?
How is it possible to hate someone and still want his hands on you?
I need answers.
Frustrated and confused, I march over to where he stands and get between him and the refrigerator, pushing the door shut and leaning back against it. “Tell me why you really kissed me today.”
“I told you. To shut you up.”
“That’s the only reason?” I can feel the heat coming off him, and it’s not all anger.
Ian takes me by the shoulders, pinning me back against the cold stainless steel. “Now you listen to me. I’ve had about all I can take of your smug, sanctimonious behavior today. Stop it.”
“Or else what?” I challenge, full of heat and liquid courage.
He leans toward me menacingly. “Or else you’re not going to like the consequences.”
I lift my chin. “Try me.”
With a grunt of frustration, he crushes his lips to mine just like he did in the conference room today, only this time I kiss him back. His hand slides around the back of my neck and into my hair, his fingers curling into a fist. I gasp at the sharp sting on my scalp, and he takes advantage of my open mouth, his tongue stroking inside it.
I reach beneath his shirt and run my hands up his rippling abs and sculpted chest. His bare skin is hot and smooth under my palms. His mouth travels down one side of my throat, his tongue warm and wet. He pulls me away from the fridge, slips his hands beneath my thighs and lifts me up so that my legs are wrapped around his waist.
Inside my head is a dizzying refrain.He wants me, he wants me, he wants me.
The mental victory feels as good as his body against mine. I take his face in my hands, his scruffy jaw rough against my fingers, and our mouths coming together again. He turns and sets me on the kitchen counter and the kiss grows deeper and more feverish, until all of a sudden he grabs me by the wrists, forcing my hands off him.
“Enough,” he says, breathing hard. “Enough. You drive me fucking crazy, London. And I don’t know what kind of games you’re playing tonight, but I’m not interested.”
And just like that, my self-esteem is crushed by his callousness—again.
“You’re one to talk about games,” I snap, yanking my arms from his grip. “How about the way you played me in the past?”
He steps back, runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, that was almost twenty fucking years ago. We were kids.”
“So what? I believed everything you said that night. I gave you my virginity. And it was all just a lark for you!”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“What else was I supposed to think? One night you say you’re all mine, the next night you were with somebody else. I saw you, remember?”
He says nothing. Doesn't move a muscle.
“You never even said you were sorry,” I inform him.
He points at me. “You think you’re so smart. You think you know everything. Well, you don’t.”
“I know I should have stayed away from you.”
“That, sweetheart, is a lesson we’ve both learned.” Turning away from me, he opens the fridge and stares into it. The milk is right there in front of his face, but apparently he can’t see it.
Sliding off the counter, I shoulder him aside and grab the plastic half-gallon of skim myself. Then I shut the door and slam the milk onto the counter like a gavel. “Here. Take it.”
Expecting him to leave now that he has what he wants, I’m surprised when he keeps standing there.
“What?” I ask flatly. “Surely you don’t need my help pouring a glass of milk. You want to play the hero, Ian, go play him. I know how you love the role.”
