he watched her, silently seething, seeing a completely new side to this woman. She’d pulled her hair back, exposing those killer cheekbones and a long, slender neck, and she’d put on red lipstick. Hooker-red lipstick—which, of course, looked like sex. Goddamn.
He didn’t want to notice the full, red, glistening lips, didn’t want to notice how long her legs were in heels, didn’t want to notice how her nipples stood at attention under the flimsy silk, but she’d been right earlier.
It was hell. His mood got more foul, his cock got more hard, and when she started dancing on the coffee table, Gabe was pretty much at the end of his rope.
“We’re going—now,” he said, watching her hips sway, like a hypnotizing cobra, twisting, begging him to follow.
“Go home, Gabe,” she said, raising her arms up over her head. A goddess reaching for the heavens, which only angered him even more because, dammit, he did not think poetry.
“Without you? No. This isn’t like you, Tess.”
That stopped the sway of her hips. Thank you, God.
“How do you know? Do you know the real me?”
“Yes,” he replied, lifting her down. His hands lingered for a moment too long, but she didn’t notice.
“Maybe I’ve changed.”
“Not over the period of four hours.” He grabbed her hand and pulled. She pulled back.
“I want to stay with Stevie.”
And that was it. Gabe didn’t care anymore. Stevie was the world’s biggest jerk and loser, and once he got his fangs into Tessa, he wouldn’t let go. Gabe picked up Tessa and threw her over his shoulder. She’d be furious, but she’d thank him in the morning.
The nasty jab between the shoulder blades indicated otherwise, but Gabe didn’t even blink. He was willing to earn a purple heart for this one.
“Sorry. We had a bad fight. Go on, ignore us. Get some more of that spinach dip. It’s really good,” Gabe said encouragingly, shouldering his way through the crowd with Tessa beating on his back.
She didn’t seem to remember that Gabe was used to dealing with drunk and disorderlies. But then, Gabe didn’t usually cup their asses in such a familiar manner, either.
“Put me down, Gabe O’Sullivan.”
“When I get you home, Miss Hart, and not before.”
He almost let her down in the elevator, but she tried to run, so he hefted her back on his shoulder. God, the woman needed to gain weight.
“Gabe, I really hate you for this.”
“In the morning, if you still hate me—which is a big if—I’ll apologize. You’ll probably be thanking me, and I’ll let you grovel in gratitude for a while, but right now you’ve had too much to drink—”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Then it’s even worse, Tess. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The doors opened, and she slid down his body, slow and seductive. She probably didn’t mean it to be that way, but his cock jumped just the same. Tessa shot him a look—not an invitation but coy and aware.
She knew.
So maybe it was time to stop playing games. Gabe trapped her outside the elevator against the wall, her lean body tight to his. He could feel every inch of her. The fluttering pulse, the tight nipples, the soft hips. She drew in a breath, soft and shaky, and the air burned. His hands itched to go lower, to explore and discover this new and marvelously arousing Tessa. But Gabe was still hanging on to the last edges of his control. His body wasn’t happy, but his body would get over it.
“Inside. Now,” he said, unlocking his apartment door. This time she didn’t argue and went inside, but he knew from the tight set of her shoulders that she wasn’t happy either.
Once in the apartment, he shut the door with a bang and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
“It’s late,” he said because he needed to be alone. Needed to have her out of his sight. He needed to reclaim the image of Tessa from before. Hopefully it was still there, embedded somewhere deep in his brain.
“I’m not a kid,” she answered, pushing her hair back from her face, and—God help him—gawky and angular had turned exotic.
“Then stop acting like one,” he snapped, not leaving her alone as he had planned.
“You’re not my father,” she blurted, hands on hips—lean hips that he could still feel against his chest.
“I’m your friend, your boss and currently your roommate,” he answered, mainly to remind himself of those key facts.
She walked toward the dining room table, away from the sensible safety of her bedroom. His gaze locked on her hips, tracking the sway with lethal intent. Stupidly he followed after her.
“Some friend, Gabe. I bet you wouldn’t do this if Cain was hitting on some woman.”
“No, Cain outweighs me by fifty pounds.” Humor—another excellent way to defuse tense situations. He could feel the sweat on his brow, the rapid pulse vibrating under his skin. He stood frozen, needing her to break into a grin, or whap him on the arm.
But the room fell eerily quiet, and he waited, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, not moving, just waiting.
Eventually she moved, her breath coming out in a rush, and she came toward him, jamming a finger into his chest, which was completely the wrong thing to do. Completely. She shouldn’t touch him. Not now.
“Do you want to know what’s bothering me? I haven’t had sex in four years. Tonight I wanted to have sex.”
Four years? His already pained heart stopped completely, before kicking in again. He shouldn’t have been happy about this bit of information, but his cock was.
Oh, it was thrilled.
“You want to have sex? Good. I want to have sex, too. We’ll have sex. Together.” It wasn’t the most sterling moment in his life, but as the words came out, he didn’t regret them. He wanted Tessa, he wanted to touch her, taste her, sink deep into her.
And Miss Frisky Pants, with the need to hit on every man in his building, looked him dead in the eye and said, “No.” The word was carefully enunciated, clearly spoken, with no room for misunderstanding, but Gabe was four years past no. He moved closer, skin brushing against skin. He could smell her perfume mixed with her desire, and it burned inside him.
“What’s wrong, Tessa? I’m not good enough?”
She put a hand to his chest to push him back, but the touch was soft and so tempting.
