The Dare Collection March 2019. Rachael StewartЧитать онлайн книгу.
rose to her feet, a fluid, elegant movement that made him regret that he’d thrown her childhood dream in her face. And he didn’t understand how he could legitimately regret that while also wanting nothing more than to mess her up all over again, with his hands and his mouth. He didn’t like her so prim. So cold. Not now that he knew exactly how hot she ran and how loud she screamed when she got what she wanted—
And it was astonishing to him that he could care this much. About anything, when until now, he’d thought the only thing he was capable of feeling was the exhilaration and fear of doing stupid shit like jumping out of planes, climbing very big rocks with no ropes and living too large and too fast like he didn’t care if it imploded around him. He’d been so sure he’d burned right through all those feelings other people seemed to have. He’d been so sure he was safe and numb.
But he couldn’t seem to stop. Not here, with Lucinda.
“This is my fault,” she said quietly. No trace of apology, but something else on her face that made him feel pretty much anything but lazy. “I underestimated the effect that kind of long-haul travel would have on me. To say nothing of the jet lag. Add to that the tropical heat and all this sunshine and I’m afraid I gave you nothing but mixed messages.” She inclined her head. “I have no one to blame for that but myself.”
Jason recognized that tone, though it took him a moment to place it. And then he did.
“Are you letting me down easy?” He let out a deep bark of laughter that should have razed the house, and had very little humor in it besides. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“If you truly don’t want to develop this island, ever, then we have nothing more to discuss.” The worst part was, the smile Lucinda aimed at him wasn’t even brittle. It was pitying. “I’ll wish you well, call for my return flight and be on my way. It will be as if I was never here at all.”
And he watched, temper kicking at him, as she waited there with that same faintly pitying look on her face. For him to say something, he assumed, that didn’t have anything to do with his dick or how wet he knew she was, right now.
Nothing came to mind.
Or nothing that wouldn’t lead to high volume and his hands in her pussy, anyway.
When he only stared back at her, fully aware that he was looking at her like this was a boxing ring and the bell was about to ring, she nodded. As if he was merely confirming all her suspicions. Then she turned smartly on one heel—because she was actually wearing fussy mainland shoes in this island house, which Jason felt like yet another insult—and started away from him.
Like that was that.
And Jason, always a little too in touch with his animal side for his own good and other people’s peace of mind, was surprised to look down at his own, tense body and discover he hadn’t in fact sprouted fangs and fur. Because that was exactly how wild he felt. Like he was four seconds away from some full-on wolf shit.
“This isn’t a power move, Lucinda,” he growled out after her, taking maybe too much satisfaction when she stopped walking as if he’d yelled. When he’d wanted to yell his head off, but hadn’t, because he could be a fucking gentleman when he felt like it. “You can tell yourself it is, if you want. I bet you are. But you know and I know that what you’re doing is running away. Scared out of your mind.”
She made a sigh into an opera with the suggestion of eyes rolled up into the back of her head, though she didn’t actually roll them at him. Or not where he could see it, anyway. She turned back around to face him while she did it, and this time, there was a razor’s edge to that smile of hers.
At least it was more real.
“I don’t generally find business scary, Jason. I don’t generally find business emotional at all.” She cocked her head to one side, a move that no one had ever managed without aggression behind it. He was sure she knew it. “Do you? Maybe that’s an American thing?”
He didn’t know he meant to move. One minute he was sitting where she’d tried to leave him, there on his own lanai without even a cup of coffee. And the next he was towering over her—taking particular notice of the way her pulse betrayed her, there in the hollow of her throat, while she stared up at him. Silently daring him to comment.
He was happy to oblige.
“That’s a load of crap. And you might be happy to lie to yourself, Scotland. But don’t try lying to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are. You’re so full of shit I can practically taste it from here.”
Her smile was bland, though her blue eyes blazed. “I’m sorry if you find reality confronting. But that doesn’t change it, I’m afraid. Reality is reality, no matter what you think about it, and no matter if you’re used to bellowing and blustering and blowing it all down.”
“Here’s a little reality for you.”
He hooked one hand around the back of her head and hauled her to him. He took her mouth with no holds barred, like he was trying to imprint himself on her. Forever, with this one insane kiss.
Because he knew she could feel the kick of it. The sucker punch. All that fire. All that need.
And he didn’t have to worry about what the hell he was feeling, did he, when she was so busy denying it.
“That’s what you’re afraid of, darlin’,” he said, through his teeth and against her lips, the taste of her flooding him. Making him want to beat his chest or something, roaring out that she was his. The way he felt, that could easily be his next move. “You think I can’t tell?”
She shoved him, hard and a little unhinged, and when he let her go—when he fucking felt like it—her blue eyes had gone stormy. Telling him all kinds of truths he figured she didn’t want to face.
Well, join the club, baby, he thought.
“I’m truly sorry if you’re the sort of person who confuses sex with emotion,” she bit out, because of course Lucinda would dare to say something like that to him. Him, of all people, a man who was known as such a hound dog that his own mother had suggested he go off somewhere and deal with himself. Him. And she was still going. “I can’t help you with that, because I’m not. I’m sorry if you thought there was more going on here. I don’t ordinarily mix business and pleasure, and this is why. The potential for confusion is too high, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not confused.”
That smile again, sharp with pity this time, and it didn’t matter that he knew it was all for show. It still stung.
“I’m not trying to insult you, Jason. I know you’re famous and used to a certain standard of treatment. You’re obviously very attractive. And yes, of course, you’re talented and exciting in bed.”
“I’ll be sure to put all that on my fucking résumé.”
Lucinda spread her hands wide, a gesture that was possibly meant to look soothing, but all he saw was the lie beneath it. And all over her face. “But none of this means anything to me. No matter how much you want it to be different, sex is just a bit of sport to me.”
He wanted to break something.
Instead, he laughed at her.
Because he knew this routine. Hell, until now he’d thought he’d invented it. He literally couldn’t count the number of women he’d had to speak to the same way she was speaking to him now.
“Karma is a bitch,” he said. “You could argue that I’ve earned this.” But he shook his head, and he settled his hand on the nape of her neck again. He was pretty sure she wanted him to. Wanted him to touch her but didn’t dare ask him to, because that would undercut this whole show she was putting on. And she didn’t bat at his arm, so he knew he was right. “But not from you.”
“I don’t know