made the most sense. Since Elle looked like original sin. A brilliant, shining apple he wanted to bite into.
And why shouldn’t he? His reasoning for resisting her didn’t matter now. He didn’t want to honor her father. And he still wanted to kiss that puckered expression off her face. So why the hell not?
“You don’t like me,” he said, that darkness compelling him now. “And yet, you do want me.”
“Come now, Apollo, don’t tell me you like every single one of your bed partners. We both know that sex isn’t love,” she said, tilting her chin upward, a faint blush spreading across her cheekbones, adding a kind of dissonance to her bold words.
Elle was certainly playing the part of experienced woman. She had gone up in flames in his arms, an equal participant in the conflagration. And yet, it didn’t all ring true. Didn’t quite piece together in a way that made sense.
He wasn’t sure he cared to analyze it. It wouldn’t change his actions either way.
“Perhaps. But sex and hate don’t typically go together,” he said. “And you claim to hate me.”
“I do,” she said, green eyes flashing. “I hate you for what you’ve done to my father. To me.”
“Not enough to leave the company.”
“That would be abandoning it altogether. What he built. What he’s trying to keep hold of, in spite of you. I won’t do that.”
“I do admire your dedication. Your loyalty.”
“Why do you admire my loyalty? You don’t possess any of your own.”
“We admire the things in others we struggle with ourselves, do we not?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t know. I certainly don’t admire anything in you.”
He chuckled, turning to face her, closing some of the distance between them. Her eyes widened and she backed against the wall. It reminded him a little bit too much of what had happened the last time they had been alone in an enclosed space together.
“I think there are a few things you admire about me,” he said, moving in a little bit closer. Her eyes widened, her pupils expanding, the green in her eyes reduced to a thin ring. Her mouth dropped open, soft and round, and begging to be kissed. To be explored. “You most certainly admire what I can do to your body. I think we both know that.”
“I do possess some restraint,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Do you?” he asked, his voice sounding rough, ragged even to his own ears. “Perhaps we should test it.”
He reached out and hit the stop button on the elevator, his stomach tightening, feeling as though a fist had closed around it.
He reached out and took hold of her arm, mimicking that day out by the pool.
“You want me,” he said. “Admit it.”
“I will not,” she said, reaching out, shoving him. But then her hand lingered on his chest, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, terrified.
“You want me even now,” he said.
And it felt imperative he make her admit it.
She tapped against his chest with her fingertips before slowly curling her fingers around the material of his shirt.
Then she pulled him to her, kissing his lips hard, deep.
He tasted anger, and a hint of shame on her tongue. And he knew just how the two mixed together, because he felt it, too.
She groaned, pushing away from him suddenly, but he wrapped his arm around the back of her head, holding her steady, working his fingers through her thick, red hair. “You want me,” he growled, “don’t deny it.”
“Wanting isn’t the same as having.”
With his other hand, he opened the top button on her blouse. “It’s the same for us.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she said, sounding desperate.
“I think it does,” he said, his voice rough. He didn’t know himself. Not at all.
She reached between them, pressing her palm over his hard length, stroking gently through the fabric of his dress pants.
“I dreamed about you,” she said, her voice hushed, her words rushed. “About this.”
“So did I,” he said, placing his hand over hers and increasing the pressure of her touch. “Every night.”
“Have you had another woman since you had me?” she asked, her tone fierce.
“No.” He suddenly thought of her touching some other man like this. “Have you had another man?”
She shook her head, curling her fingers around his arousal. “No.”
He growled, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, rage and relief burning through him. The very idea of another man putting his hands on Elle made him angry. He wanted her. It had been too long. Nine years. Nine long years lusting after Elle St. James, even as he hated her family. Even when he was overtaken by the desire to see their destruction, he wanted her. It was unacceptable.
He would burn it out. He would burn it out and then it would be over. Afterward, he could discard her if he wished, but this would finally end.
He stripped her clothes from her body as quickly as possible, nearly tearing the delicate fabric of her blouse in his haste. Definitely tearing her panties.
She didn’t protest. Instead, she made a sweet little sound of pleasure as he wrenched the lace fabric away from her skin, as he stroked his fingers over her wet flesh, so slick, so perfect. She wanted him. There was no denying it, no faking it.
He could feel the evidence for himself.
He stripped all of her clothes from her body this time, leaving her completely bare to his gaze. He had spent so many years fantasizing about what she might look like. The size of her breasts, the color of her nipples. That beautiful thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.
Yes, he had woken up from a deep sleep many times thanks to a dream about Elle’s naked body. He had been—for so long—consumed with the curiosity of what lay beneath her prim clothes.
Now, he didn’t have to wonder. Now he knew. But he had a feeling she would still haunt his dreams.
No. Because you will have her until you are finished with her.
Yes, he would. Even if burning it out meant reducing them both to ash.
He stripped his suit jacked off and cast it onto the floor, spreading it as wide as he could. Then he swept her into his arms, and lay her down on the fabric.
He didn’t have time to worry about anything. He was too needy. Too desperate. Two more things to add to her list
