“Of course I did,” he said again. He grinned, a white slash of a smile. “Women really do take a lot longer in the bathroom. I also looked in the refrigerator, used your cell phone to call New York and pocketed your car keys. There can’t be a scrap of predator Wyr in you because you aren’t just a vegetarian, you’re a vegan. No wonder you’re so scrawny.”
“Scrawny!” Only he could think of calling a five foot ten, 140-pound woman scrawny. She threw the other shopping bag at him. He caught that too but couldn’t stop the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and lotion spilling over him. “I am not! And anyway, I’m not quite a vegan either. I’ll eat honey if it’s harvested in a responsible manner. But forget about all that—you give me back my car keys!”
“Not happening,” he told her.
She launched at him and smacked him in the chest. “You bastard! You did not have any right to go through my things or—or steal my car!”
He started laughing, a deep, full-out belly laugh. Then in a move that mimicked the one in the dream, he grabbed her arms, rolled her over his body and slammed her into the mattress. She squeaked. He rose over her, eclipsing the light. Those golden raptor’s eyes were alight. “There is not another entity in the world who would dare to act that way with me.”
She froze and the blood drained from her face.
His expression changed. He held a stiffened finger under her nose and said, “No! I did not mean that as a threat.”
Her lips trembled. “What did you mean then?”
He laid a hand on her cheek. It was so long it almost covered the length of her head. “You’re mine,” he said. “You can deny it, argue, throw fits, try to run away. But. You’re. Still. Mine.”
“That’s insane,” she whispered. “I have no idea what that means. I don’t belong to you or anyone else.”
“Yes, you do,” he told her. His thumb stroked her lips. “You are mine and I will keep you. I will not hurt you and I will protect you. And you’re beginning to trust me. All of that is a good thing.”
“I am not a piece of property, damn it!”
“But you are in my possession.”
She enunciated, “I think you are a lunatic.”
“Since you are too, that works well enough.” His mouth curled into a smile. He lowered his head slowly, watching her. When she tensed, he whispered, “You’re safe. I just want to taste you. No more.”
He waited inches above her lips.
This was so wrong on so many levels. She looked from his patient eyes to his mouth. The tension melted from her traitorous body.
He felt her resistance go. His mouth covered hers. Her eyes fluttered closed. His lips, warm and firm, moved featherlight against hers, discovering their shape and texture. It was nothing like the dream when they were both hard and rough with each other. This kiss was slow, confident, unhurried and sensuous.
Pleasure spiraled down through her body and grew liquid. She murmured and touched his jaw.
He licked and nibbled at her lips, his breathing deepening. As her fingers traveled up from his jaw and threaded through his hair, he opened his mouth and drove into her with his tongue. The pleasure spiked higher, sharper.
He angled her head so he had better access and could dig deeper into her mouth, his body hardening. He drove his thigh between her legs and pushed up against the area that had grown wet in response to him. She made another muffled noise as she kissed him back with escalating excitement. He growled and pushed harder with his thigh, deeper with his tongue.
He hit just the right spot. She gasped and arched her pelvis. Both her arms were now wound around his neck. He cupped her ass and pulled her up more tightly against him. He wound his other arm underneath her neck, holding her pressed along the length of his body. He found a wicked rhythm with mouth and thigh that stole all thought from her until she was so torched, she was eating at him with the same lack of control as she had in the dream.
He devoured her with starved greed. She ran her hands over his bare shoulders. His nude torso was all over her, his thick hard erection pressing against her hip. She wanted his clothes off. She wanted him inside of her, holding her down as he pounded into her.
Oh my God, she wanted to pull way the hell back now. She yanked her mouth away and said, gasping, “Stop. It’s too much.”
He reared back his head and hissed. He crushed her to him and didn’t move, his body strung tight.
His gaze had turned to lava again, golden eyes burning. She turned and buried her face against his hard, bunched biceps. She whispered, “I’m just not ready.”
“The boyfriend,” he snarled.
“Ex-boyfriend. And I’m so over him.”
She peeked at him. He was looking down at her, the planes and angles of his dark face cut sharp. “You said you were still hurt.”
She laid her fingers against that taut mouth and traced it, obsessed with the shape and texture of him. “I am hurt because I chose to trust someone and was betrayed. I am no longer hurt by him, nor would I want anything to do with him if he were still alive. The most I would be tempted to do is beat the crap out of him again.”