Page 17 of Gluttony
“How did you get in?” she pressed, her voice huskier than intended.
Again, another shrug. Another minute flash of attention—there.
A moan escaped her lips. Her eyes widened in surprise. He craned his neck, reaching for her with his mouth.
Every logical thought fled her mind. All that was left was his intoxicating scent tickling her senses. Musky, heady and natural. He wanted to kiss her, and—goddammit—she wanted to let him. Inch by inch he strained closer. Closer. Electricity and anticipation hummed between them. There was no other reasoning but his lips as they met, and the seismic reaction afterward. The earth moved. The sky tumbled. The air thickened. He was the destruction of her world, of her inhibitions. This was raw, powerful and inescapable. She tunneled her fingers into his damp hair, and he slid his hands out to grip her waist and hold her to him until the pressure between their hips became unbearable and she rocked. Her mind began to shut down to make way for all the sensations of pleasure Tony brought as his tongue dueled with hers.
They kissed, lost in each other until a single word pierced her haze: ruin.
She pulled away and reason flooded in. Connection severed, she blinked, catching her breath as Tony resumed savoring her with his eyes.
This was wrong. Sheknewthat, but she hadn’t been able to stop. Her lips felt tainted, bruised, wet. She wiped the back of her hand across them and huffed. Then her face twisted into fury and she slammed her palms on his chest.
“Ow,” he groused.
“You don’t get to come into my home, eat my cucumber, accost me, and then kiss me like...”
“Like I’ve been waiting for your taste my whole life?”
“I’m not one of your groupies, Tony. Those lines don’t work on me.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes, and then his attention dropped from her face down to her chest. They were back up in a flash. “Sorry. Shit. I’m not looking, I swear.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Not looking at wha—?” She glanced down. Her robe gaped, giving him unfettered access to her precious cargo. Both parts. Upstairs and downstairs. She readjusted to cover up. “Boy, I’m not going to ask again.”
His eyes opened and crinkled. “Boy? I like that. Cute.”
Goddamn it. It was what her grandmother used to call her father when he was in trouble, and the trouble had lasted well into his adult years. Tony wasn’t a child, but she felt like he needed schooling, and the word had just slipped out. She climbed off him. He gave a disappointed sigh. She started stalking to her bathroom, but pivoted at the last moment and came back to him as he lifted himself from the ground.
She pointed at his face. “This isn’t going to happen.”
“It already has.”
“You know what I mean.” Smug bastard.
“I know.”
“For the record, we’re not compatible. Men like you and women like me don’t mix.”
“Says who?”
“Me. I’m not into”—she waved at his face—“allthat. And you can’t handle all of this.”
They were the wrong words to say to Tony Lazarus. He didn’t cower, he didn’t shy away, he stood tall and let his dark gaze drift down her body. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Go on. I dare you. Just say something about my body and I’ll throttle you to Kingdom Come.
“I mean, I have a big appetite. Ineed”—he gestured around her body—“all of that.”
Bailey opened her mouth for a retort, but Tony suddenly turned his back on her, hunching over his hands. “Fuck, it,” he cursed. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Then he left her condo.
Just like that.
“Yeah. You go wait outside,” she said, as though it were her idea.
