The End of Faking It. Natalie Anderson
place. She didn’t like the way her body was so willingly bracing for impact.
‘Don’t add another insult to the list,’ she said, trying to regain control over both of them. But the words didn’t come out as forcefully as she’d intended. Instead they whispered on barely a breath—because she could barely move enough to breathe.
‘How can appreciating beauty be an insult?’
Penny’s pulse thundered. She was used to confident men. They were the kind she liked—pretty much bullet proof. But this was more than just superficial brashness; this was innate, absolute arrogance. He stood even closer, filling all her senses. Her blood rushed to all her secret places and left her brain starving of its ability to operate.
His smile suddenly flashed brighter—like how the flame flared on a gas hob when you accidentally twisted the knob the wrong way. His hand lifted and he brushed her lips with a finger. She shivered.
Shock. She was in shock. That was the problem. That was why she wasn’t resisting….
His expression heated up all the more. ‘You okay?’
‘Mmm.’
His traversing finger muffled the words she couldn’t speak anyway. She was too busy pressing her lips firmly together to stop herself from opening up and inviting him in. But somehow he got that invite anyway because he lifted his finger and swiftly replaced it with his mouth.
Oh.
It was light. A warm, gentle, coaxing kiss that promised so much more than it gave. But what it did give was good. He moved closer, not threatening, but with a hint of masculine spice and just enough pressure to make her accept him. To make her want more. Surprised that it wasn’t a full-throttle brazen burst of passion, she relaxed. Her eyes automatically closed as her body focused on the exquisite sweetness trickling into her. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything so nice—a subtle magic that melted her resistance, and saw her start to strain for what she knew he was holding at bay.
Her lips parted—she couldn’t deny herself. His response came immediate, and powerful. She heard his sound of satisfaction and his hands moved from the steel behind to her soft body. She trembled top to toe as he swiftly shaped her curves, pulling her against him. She had to grab hold of his shoulders or she was going to tumble backwards. The kiss deepened again as she felt the wide, flat planes and hard strength of him. Her neck arched back as he stroked into her mouth. She lifted her hand, sliding her fingers into his thick hair. He showed no mercy then, bending her back all the more as he sought full access, kissing her jaw and neck and back up again to claim her mouth—this time with confident, carnal authority.
She shuddered at the impact, felt him press closer still. Sandwiched between him and the cabinet, she was trapped between forces as unyielding and demanding as each other. Yet she had no desire to escape, not now.
The arrogance of him was breathtaking. But not anywhere as breathtaking as the way he kissed. It was as if he was determined to maximise pleasure for them both and the control she usually held so tight started to slide as her own desire mounted.
He was silk-wrapped steel and she wanted to feel all of him against her, slicing into her. She wanted him. Wanted as she hadn’t wanted anyone in a long, long time. Okay, ever. Hungry for his strength and passion, she kissed him back—melting against his body, delving into his mouth with her tongue, so keen to explore more.
And he knew. He lifted his hand from her waist to her breast and, oh, so lightly stroked his fingers across her violently taut nipple.
She felt the touch as if her skin were bare. And it burned too hot.
She jerked back, ripping her mouth free from his. Their eyes met, faces inches apart. A flare of something dangerous kindled in his—different from the earlier fury but just as frightening for Penny. She pushed as far back against the cool metal cabinet as she could, breathing hard. She shook her head, the only method of communication she could manage. While he stood, rock hard, and stared right back at her.
A million half-thoughts murmured in her head—desperate thoughts, forgotten thoughts, frightening thoughts.
Carter Dodds wasn’t the kind of man to let a woman stay on top—Penny’s only acceptable position, metaphorically anyway. He’d just demonstrated he’d always ultimately be the one in charge—his almost pretty-boy packaging disguised a total he-man with all masculine, all dominant virility. He’d made his move that way—lulling her into a sense of sweet security before unleashing his true potency and damn near swamping her reason. She liked sex—enjoyed the chase, the fun of touch, the fleeting closeness. But she never, ever lost control. She had to be in charge—needed to be the one who was wanted—even if only for that little while. She was very careful with whom she shared her body because she would always walk away. She ensured that a lover understood that. Commitment wasn’t something she could ever give. Nor was complete submission. So the sensations now threatening to submerge all her capacity for rational thought were very new. And very unwelcome.
But there was a logical explanation. Less than five minutes ago she’d thought she was being attacked. Her heart hadn’t had a chance since to stop its manic stuttering and it was still sending ‘escape now’ blasts through her blood.
‘Well, that was one way to burn off the adrenalin overload.’ She totally had to act cool.
‘Is that what you were doing?’
‘Sure. You know, I was still wired from the fright of you assaulting me in my own office.’
He stepped back, taking his heat with him. But his scrutiny seemed even more intense than ever. ‘Oh. So what was it for me?’
She hazarded a simple guess. ‘Normal?’
His mouth quirked. ‘Not.’
Cool just wasn’t happening but she had to scrape her melting body back together. She wasn’t afraid of taking fun where it could be found, but there wasn’t fun to be had here. Anything that hot eventually had to hurt. And any emotion that intense scared her. In ten minutes with Carter she’d already run the gamut of terror, fury and lust—way too much of the latter. So she turned away from the challenge in his eyes.
‘I need to get going. I’m late as it is.’ The sooner she got to the bar, the better—she had to burn up the energy zinging round her body like a demented fly trapped in a jar. Fast and free on the dance floor for the next eight hours might do it.
‘Hot date?’
‘Very.’ She lied, happy to slam the brakes on anything between them by invoking her imaginary man friend. She opened up her gym bag; she’d straighten up her appearance and then her insides. But those insides shrieked—she breathed choppily, her heart jack-hammered—so the hairdryer’s cacophony was completely wonderful. It muted her clamouring nerves.
Carter took a couple of strides to get himself out of physical range so he could get a grip on the urge to haul her back against him. He didn’t know what had got into him. He’d just kissed a complete stranger. A stranger who he’d initially thought was Mason’s cheating thief.
He should probably apologise. But how could he be sorry for something so good? Except for a second there she’d looked at him as if he’d struck her, not snogged her. She’d looked shocked and almost hurt, almost vulnerable.
And then she’d blamed that chemistry on adrenalin? Who did she think she was kidding? And now she was apparently late for her date and she had her hairdryer blasting. But it wasn’t her hair getting the treatment. It was her shirt. She held it out from her body, blowing the warm air over the silk. Then she lifted the nozzle and aimed it down her neckline—what, so she could dry her soft, wet skin? Not helping his raging erection subside any. Nope, that just yanked it even tighter.
A light flickered on her desk. Her mobile. He glanced back up; she was still focused on her shirt. He picked up the mobile to hand it to her, his thumb hit the keypad and, oh, shame, that message from Mel just flicked up on the screen.