Page 52 of Dangerous Games (Tempting SEALs 2)

"Hmm." She pressed her lips together before sliding her feet into her shoes. "I have to stop at the house for makeup. I should have waited till then to dress."

"You don't need the makeup."

"Yes, I do." She smoothed the skirt over her thighs before gazing back at him placidly.

A frown snapped between his heavy brows. "You don't need it and there's no time to stop for it."

"Then there's no time for the meeting with Joe," she informed him calmly. "I don't go anywhere without makeup. Clint; get used to it."

"No."

Okay, she'd had enough of thi

s. She turned, grabbing the bag that held the clothes she had worn the night before, and headed for the hotel room door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" His hand slapped against the panel as she reached it, reminding her way too much of the night in his apartment when he had backed her against the door.

She turned to him, feeling the brush of his jeans-covered erection against her lower stomach and trying to ignore the jump in her blood pressure. God, what he had done to her in that bed through the night. Pleasure shouldn't be that good; it shouldn't ride an edge so close to torment, to dreams never imagined.

"I'm going back to my house," she told him softly. "I'm going to dress in my own clothes, and I'm going to put on my makeup. After that, we can make that meeting or you can go to hell. Your choice."

She watched the battle that raged in his eyes, mesmerized by it as she watched anger and emotion struggle for dominance.

"Your clothes kick ass," he finally said, his jaw clenching violently. "It's not a case of what looks best. After we meet with Joe we're going downstairs at Diva's, to the heart of the club. If you don't dress the part, you'll never be accepted there. This isn't about the challenge or control. It's about getting to that drug. Defying me sexually is one thing. Defying me at the basis of the Dom-sub relationship is another."

"And wearing these clothes and no makeup will help that how?" She frowned back as the feel of his hard body against hers sent her pulse racing.

He breathed in deeply. "By stripping yourself of the makeup and your normal mode of dress, you're showing the others, those not involved with the drugs, that you're interested in submitting. It gains you acceptance, and acceptance gets you information. Where the suppliers or dealers are concerned, it pushes them closer to making a mistake, because they know it's an act. They will know what you're doing, even if no one else does. Men like this see it as a challenge rather than a ploy to force them into a mistake.

"They won't suspect my involvement simply because I am a part of the inner club. I'm also known for choosing women who resemble you. It will make my job easier."

"Because you wanted me," she said roughly, hearing only the admission that his women resembled her. "You went to others when you wanted me." And that bit.

He grimaced, the ice around him melting further.

"Until I couldn't breathe for it," he finally admitted as though the knowledge of it angered him. "I still can't breathe for it, Morganna."

"Clint-" She would have protested the admission, but the finger against her lips halted her words.

"You're like a fire inside me," he said, but the tinge of regret in his voice sliced through her heart. "You think I find you lacking, and that's not true, baby. I'm the one lacking, and when you realize that, you'll understand why I've stayed away from you."

"Lacking in what? The ability to understand that your normally less than charming personality is not why I love you?"

He breathed out heavily as his head lowered, his lips brushing over her shoulder as Morganna fought the heaviness in her heart.

"If I could love anyone," he whispered at her ear seconds later, "it would be you, Morganna. It would always be you."

Another woman might be offended. A part of Morganna assured her she should be offended. Except she knew Clint As stubborn, impossible to get along with, and arrogant and demanding as he could be, he wasn't lacking in love.

He loved her; she was certain of it. Accepting it might be a different matter for Clint. He saw too many shades of gray sometimes and not enough of the rainbow hues that love could be.

"It is me," she whispered back, refusing to allow him to hide, to lie not just to her, but to himself. "And we both know it, Clint."

As his head lifted, Morganna stared back at him silently.

His lips quirked wryly. "You'll be the death of me."

"Or the life of you." She let her hands fall to his shoulders as he released them, relishing the warmth and power in his broad shoulders.

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