Page 17 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
“Yes,” she agrees. “Classic. Except the account he controlled was in my name.”
In the silence that follows, the muted noises of the restaurant seem overly loud. Voices, music, the clatter of silverware against plates, the sounds clang around in my head.
“He set you up.”
Tabby nods.
“Why?”
“Because he could. He could do anything he wanted.”
“No. Why you?”
She looks over my shoulder. I sense she’s deliberately avoiding my eyes.
“You’d have to ask him.”
I stare at her long and hard. “Tabby.”
She glances at me.
“Don’t bullshit me. If we’re gonna work together, there won’t be any lies between us. Why did Søren Killgaard set you up?”
Her expression is unreadable. “Why do some boys like to pull the wings off flies?”
I say bluntly, “You were fucking him.”
Something flickers in her gaze, a deep distaste or disappointment. “Not everything is about sex, Connor.”
“Yes, it is. Except sex itself. That’s about power.”
Her head tilts. She appraises me with those beautiful feline eyes, a long, searching look that’s strangely intimate. The distaste in her gaze changes to something else, something warmer. In a husky voice, she murmurs, “Finally, something on which we agree.”
Heat surges through my body.
Desire is a strange animal. Elemental like hunger or thirst, but unlike hunger or thirst, it has the power to rob you of reason with the speed of two fingers snapping, so that you’ll do things so out of character you don’t recognize yourself, the creature you become in service of the primal, irresistible urge to mate.
The tone in her voice, the look in her eyes, the memory of her wet, naked body—all of it conspires to wipe my mind clean of all logic, and suddenly I’m just…gone.
I reach across the table, take her face in my hands, pull her toward me—knocking over glasses and rattling plates—and kiss her.
For a moment, there’s nothing. Resistance, her mouth firmly closed, her lips hard. But then a softening, a quick intake of breath through her nose, and she gives in.
Her lips part. She takes my tongue into her mouth. She makes a sound deep in her throat, a low, feminine noise of pleasure, and my cock instantly stiffens to steel.
She tastes sweet, so fucking sweet, warm and soft and yielding, like a ripe piece of fruit. A peach, melting in my mouth. Our tongues sweep against each other, delicious sliding and pressure, suction, gliding, easy and perfect, like they were meant for exactly this. Then it’s more urgent, a rising demand, a jolt of pleasure when she nips my lower lip, my hands tightening around her jaw, her hands fisted in my hair, urgently pulling me closer, deeper, my mind fried as my body throbs and pulses, every beat of my heart a roar in my ears, my blood pounding like drums, wanting wanting wanting—Sweet Jesus this woman is heaven—
She yanks away and slaps me.
Hard.
We stare at each other. She’s standing up, I’m sitting down, we’re both panting. Her face is bright red. My cock is so hard, it hurts.
The two girls at the bar are openly gaping at us. So is the waitress, who just arrived to clear our plates.
Tabby staggers back a step. She drags the back of her hand across her mouth. She rips her gaze from mine and looks at the girls at the bar.
“He’s all yours,” she says hoarsely. She spins around and strides away.
