“You said we don’t have any problems,” she taunted.
“Until tonight, I didn’t think we did. Jesus, Natalie. Chris would fuck anything that lay down long enough for him to get off!”
The comment, so uncharacteristically shocking and frankly unfair, jarred her past argument into full-on battle mode. Screaming fury swamped her, white and hot enough to obliterate her vision, and before she came to her senses the glass jar of moisturizer flew from her hand at Shane’s head. “You jerk!”
Cursing, he ducked. The jar shattered against the wall, and white cream sprayed the dresser and carpet.
“Is that what you think of me? That I’d tell Chris that we don’t talk and we don’t have sex, and then I’d go to bed with him?”
Momentum powered her into the grip of a full-fledged temper tantrum. Searching wildly for another missile, she found a tall plastic container of body lotion, and this time she aimed for his torso.
“I am not—”
He twisted and caught the container on his shoulder, but the full canister of extra hold hair spray took him directly in the chest.
“—fucking Chris Holstead!”
In a split second he switched to offense, surging across the room to grab her around the waist and spin her face-first into the wall. One arm braced by her head, the other holding her tight as she squirmed, he bent to her ear. “Fuck, Natalie! What do you want from me?”
Genuine frustration roughened the growled words. So did aggravation, and the implication that their problems were all hers. Fury seared every nerve as she planted both hands on the wall at face height and squirmed, then shoved back into his body. He didn’t move. There wasn’t room for air between their bodies, and the struggle tugged her blouse from her skirt and rubbed her ass against his pelvis.
“All I’ve ever wanted was your attention,” she said, furious. In their early years, when he was in the Ph. D program, he’d made time for her, taught her to crave his attention, to luxuriate in it. When had it become too much to ask?
A quick inhale from the hard-bodied man behind her, then the arm at her waist shifted lower, to her hips. He tightened his grip and stepped into her at the same time, rocking his pelvis against her ass and pressing her between his body and the wall. The predatory, erotic position rushed hot and primitive through her. She quivered in his grip, her body going soft and expectant before she got her wits about her and stiffened in his arms.
He was too quick to miss the split second of female surrender. He bent to her ear and murmured, “You’ve got my attention, sweetheart.”
This time the words were provocative, aroused, fully aware that he had her pinned and helpless when she wanted to be neither. “After that scene tonight I don’t want anything from you ever again,” she said.
“Liar.” His free hand lifted from the wall. She took the brunt of his weight as he bent and found the hem of her skirt. His intention became clear when his fingertips scraped against the long muscles in her legs, gathering material as they crept up. The movement revealed her leg past the top of her stocking and memories long buried under the weight of work and home.
“Don’t you dare,” she sputtered. Her heart expanded hard against her ribs, and when his fingertips found the elastic at the leg of her panties she got enough leverage to jab her elbow in his abdomen with some force. He grunted and she squirmed free.
“Forget it, Shane. We aren’t fighting.”
His gaze swept the room, the cream-spattered wall, the toiletries on the floor. “Looks like a fight. Sounds like a fight,” he taunted softly, bracing a shoulder against the doorframe. “Smells like a fight, like sweat and turned on woman. Oh, we’re fighting all right.”
Heat seared her cheekbones. “The hell we are, Shane. I remember where fights used to go, and sex isn’t a solution. Not tonight.”
The scimitar smile flashed on again, and stayed on. “Then let’s talk. Let’s talk about tonight, and Dr. Lindstrom and anything else that’s on your mind.”
“After what you did tonight, no way,” she said rashly. The dam had broken when she hurled an eighty-five dollar jar of anti-aging cream at the wall; she was responding irrationally, saying no out of spite and cattiness, provoking him just to see what he’d do.
A brow quirked up. “Then let’s play a game.”
Once again, heat washed through her. When they were first married they’d spent their honeymoon year staying in to watch movies and play games. The games frequently turned sexual, with complex, shifting rules. Points scored in Scrabble led to kisses, and oral sex for triple point words turned into hours of foreplay. Timed hide-and-seek where the hider had to strip off clothing if he or she was found within the time limit. With Shane, losing had been as much fun as winning.
“Not up for a little competition?” he said when she didn’t respond.