Page 41 of Back in the Texan's Bed
“Ross,” she began, then stopped. Because she had no idea what to say.I just needed you to lookatme and notthroughmedidn’t seem like a good opener. She shook her head, tried again. “Ross, I wanted to apologize. About earlier. This night is important to you, and what happened between us threw a pall over it that doesn’t belong. I’m sorry for that.”
“Is that what you and Billy were talking about?”
She blinked, taken aback by the abrupt question. “No,” she said. “Well, not really...”
“Which is it?” he pressed in the low, quiet tone that still set her instinctive alarm system clanging. “Because it looked like a serious conversation, given the way you two were cozied up together.”
She frowned, lifting her hands. “Wait. What the hell is going on here?”
“He asked would I mind if he asked you out. Did I ever tell you that?” He stepped away from the door, stalking closer to her. “After he first met you at Sheen,” he continued, not granting her the chance to reply. “He called you beautiful and wanted you.”
“What did you tell him?” she breathed, still unsure of what was happening but rapidly getting tugged down by the undertow of desire swirling around them.
Ross might appear the epitome of cool composure, but his eyes... They burned bright. Anger? Lust? Didn’t matter, because both caused the air to snag in her lungs, dampened her palms and beaded her nipples into tight points, setting off a pulsing throb in her sex.
Jesus, what did that say about her?
Nothing flattering.
“I told him to go for it.” He moved even closer. And closer still, until the lapels of his tuxedo jacket grazed the tips of her breasts. She just managed to swallow a gasp. “I didn’t know you were the mother of my son then, but the reason still stands. We’re sometimes acquaintances, sometimes enemies. Co-parents who want nothing from each other but the best for our son. We’re a mistake that are now connected for the next sixteen years, right?”
“Ross,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m—”
“Sorry,” he finished, flicking a hand, the gold of his watch glinting in the shadowed room. “You said that. Did Billy flirt with you? Ask you how we were doing?”
“Yes, but not how you’re insinuating,” she objected, frowning.
He arched an eyebrow, and the mocking gesture sparked a flame of irritation. “Really? And what am I insinuating?” he drawled.
“If I didn’t know better—and believe me, I do—I’d swear you were jealous. Which is ridiculous considering you were just out there with women not just hanging from your every word, but fromyou,” she snapped.
Shit.
She didn’t lose her temper often, but dammit, when she did, her mouth ran like a swollen spring river—fast, babbling and all over the place.
“And if I didn’t know better, I’d think that was jealousy,” he taunted, cocking his head and peering down at her through a thick fringe of lashes. “Fortunately, I know better, too. But just in case you need clarification, other than how they can benefit the festival, I don’t give a damn about those women. And I definitely don’t want to fuck them. You’re the only one I need to be inside of. The only one who can get me hard just by breathing.” He tunneled his fingers through the fall of her hair and tugged, yanking her head back so his mouth hovered over hers. “And you’re wrong, Charlotte.” He pulled harder, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, trapping the groan that almost slipped free at the corresponding tingle across her scalp. “I am jealous. Two times Billy touched you. And both times I battled back the urge to rush across the room and shove him against the wall and away from you.”
Shock crackled through her, the static of it convincing her she’d misheard. She slowly shook her head. “You don’t—”
“Mean it?” he interrupted her once more, completing her sentence. “Yes, I do. To you, I might be a mistake,” he repeated what she’d called him again for the second time in as many minutes, and it shredded her. “But to all of them out there, including my friend, you’re mine. At night, when you’re under me, moaning my name, coming around my dick, you’re mine. Aren’t you?” He rolled his hips, his erection, thick and hard, grinding against her belly. “Aren’t you, baby?”
She squeezed her eyes closed. Trembled. And rasped, “Yes.”
His mouth crushed down on hers, consuming the echo of the word and robbing her breath. Hard, rough, hot. Nothing gentle about this kiss. It was pure lust and aggression. Pure need. She shoved her fingers through his hair, fisting the cool strands, her ravenous desire rising to match his.
She didn’t give a damn that just down the hallway, hundreds of people congregated. Didn’t care that anyone could easily open that door—just as easily as she’d done. No, she didn’t spare one more thought on any of that. Everything in her focused on this man devouring her mouth like he’d been on a hunger strike, and she was his first meal.
His arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her tighter to him, and his big frame surrounded her. Protecting her. Even as she tumbled headlong into the wild sexual chaos he never failed to stir within her, she didn’t fight or fear it. Not when she had utter confidence that he would be her anchor.
“Put your legs around me,” he ordered seconds before hiking her into the air.
She obeyed, wrapping herself around him, trusting his strength, his power. In several long strides, he had her back pressed to the wall. One glance over his shoulder assured her they were steeped in shadow, the pale moonbeams not reaching them in their corner. Of course, Ross would’ve considered their privacy and her modesty. Even if by chance someone passed by the window that looked out over the lawn and stable, they wouldn’t glimpse her and Ross. The knowledge allowed her to sink further into him, under his spell.
With the wall behind her and his body aligned against her front, she was trapped. And didn’t want to escape. Cupping his jaw, she settled her thumbs on his chin and tugged. Demanding he open wider for her. Triumph and satisfaction sang through her when he complied, cocking his head so she could thrust deeper, help herself to more of him.
God help her, but she would never get enough of this man. She acknowledged that fact with a fatalistic certainty. She could no more change it than she could who fathered her baby. Ross had imprinted himself on her so long ago, branding her with his special mark of passion, of possession. Maybe it hadn’t been time, work and motherhood that had prevented her from becoming romantically involved again in these past three years. Maybe it had been the knowledge that no one else could make her fly and die at the same time.
“Touch me,” she pleaded, unashamed in her need. Peppering fevered kisses across his cheek and jaw, she whispered, “Please, touch me.”
