He jerked open the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. He needed her. His body needed hers. He ached, and not from the run or their climb or the bag work. He ached because every muscle in his body felt cramped and tight. Catarina Benoit belonged to him and he wasn’t giving her up. Not even for all the right reasons, because, damn it all, he wasn’t a good man and truthfully, he fucking didn’t care.
He walked into the bedroom and glanced toward the master bath. The door was closed. The sound of water running was muffled. The scent of honeysuckle drifted from under the door to envelope him. Instantly the taste of her was on his tongue, in his mouth and his cock swelled alarmingly.
He’d waited for her to come to him. Was it really that damned hard? He’d been pressed up against her body every night. She couldn’t fail to read the signs, but not once had she made a move. Even her morning kisses were tentative and chaste. She wasn’t getting away with that crap anymore. He’d waited for her to make her move and tried to drive himself to exhaustion while he waited. She had his body – and him – in knots. He was done with being the nice guy.
He felt the edges of his temper expand. He was already in a foul mood. He stalked to the door and found it locked. His temper flared instantly, hot and violent. He didn’t knock. He didn’t ask her questions, he just kicked the door hard. The doorjamb broke instantly and the door flew open. He stepped inside.
She stood naked beside the tub, her hands over her head as she put her hair up. Startled, she spun around, her breasts swaying invitingly, her eyes wide with shock. “Eli?” Her teeth tugged at her lower lip.
“Don’t fucking lock that door again, you hear me?” He took a step toward her, his eyes blazing with fire. “Not now, not ever. I don’t give a damn how angry or upset you are, you don’t lock me out of any room you’re in.”
She didn’t flinch. She stood her ground. “I take it that’s another rule.”
“Damn straight it is, and you’d better remember it.”
“Perhaps you might tell me all the rules so I don’t keep making mistakes.”
He studied her face. Her brilliant cobalt eyes. “Are you being a smart-ass right now? Do you think that’s really wise?” It was difficult to judge her mood. More than anything she looked defiant. He didn’t do defiant very well and his leopard liked it even less. He forced the cat under control when it rose snarling and raking at him with demanding claws.
She shrugged and stepped into the tub. He was close enough to see the small shiver that ran through her body. She wasn’t nearly as sure of herself – or of him. He stepped close to her. Very close. Close enough for her to see the bulge straining against his trousers, but then she’d been seeing it every day for four long days and nights and she hadn’t done a damn thing about it.
“You’ve got twenty minutes and then I want you out of here. I’ll be on the kitchen porch. I want you to join me.”
“I’m tired. I thought I’d just go to bed.”
His gaze slashed her face. “I’m restraining myself here, Cat. Keep it up and you’re going to find yourself in trouble and believe me, baby, when I say you won’t like the trouble you’re getting into. Join me in twenty minutes and don’t be late.” He shoved the bottle of water at her. “And drink this. How many times do I have to fucking tell you to hydrate after working out?”
She took the bottle of water, her eyes searching his face. He kept his features hard. Implacable. No give. He wasn’t feeling like giving. He was feeling like taking. He’d had enough of waiting for her to come to him. She wasn’t going to do it, and unless he wanted to wait for her reluctant leopard to emerge, he was never going to have her soft body surrounding his with heat and fire. He turned and abruptly stormed out.
Catarina slowly twisted the cap off the water bottle, all the while keeping her gaze on the empty doorway. Her heart hammered too fast. Too hard. Too loud. Had he heard? She wouldn’t be surprised if he had and if he had, he hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it. The story of her life. She had planned a good long crying fest, a pity party right there in the bathtub.
Elijah just had to tell that horrible, humiliating story to Eli. She pressed the cool water bottle to her hot face. As a temptress, she was an utter failure. She had no idea how to entice Eli into touching her. She didn’t want to make the first move because she felt awkward.
Where was that hussy of a leopard when she needed her? Eli had all but retreated from her. He was angry, but she wasn’t certain why. She’d done everything he’d asked of her, no matter how difficult, no matter how tiring. She could only guess that he wanted her so tired he wouldn’t have to touch her. Now, after hearing what Elijah had said, he really wouldn’t want to touch her, but he needed sex all the time, so she was rather handy to have around.