I was really shocked at how he’d just blown off my explanation and at the way he was ranting at me. I’d only been the target of his rage once before, years ago when he exploded on me at that diner. Only, he was drunk that night. This time, there was no excuse. I wondered what the hell was going on.
I tried to counter his yelling by keeping my voice calm. “I did no such thing. Trip, I swear. Those are my personal notes from years ago, and I didn’t even use them for that first book. I only pulled them back out to write our story for you. It’s the one that they wanted, but I didn’t do it. Just read the book. You’ll see I’m not lying.”
He ignored my rationalization, his ire too far gone to listen to reason. “And this! What the hell is this? A washed-up actor? Is that where you see me headed?”
He had my memoir notes and my “Last Act” notes all jumbled together, thinking I was writing a tell-all about his past and making dim predictions about his future.
I ignored my anxiety at seeing how he’d messed up my “filing system.” There had been order to my chaos, and Trip had just lumped all my pages into one, discombobulated stack. “That is for a fictional novel that has nothing to do with you!”
Something changed in his expression and I knew my words were finally getting through. His shoulders deflated as he swiped a hand through his hair, staring off across the patio. He wanted to believe me; I could tell that he did. I wasn’t a liar. Trip knew that. He knew I wasn’t like them. He couldn’t help but get his defenses up about something like this. He was surrounded by users and sellouts.
But goddammit, I wasn’t one of them.
Maybe I should have told him about being asked to write that first book, but since I never actually did it, I didn’t think it was important enough to mention. It’s not like I was specifically trying to keep that information a secret from him.
Besides, I got the impression that something else was going on. Trip was being moody and accusatory, both of which were definitely not features of his normal personality. He was all stressed out, and I knew it wasn’t just because of my manuscript.
So, why the temper tantrum?
“What’s going on here, Trip? This is about more than just some diary passages.”
He met my eyes for a quick second, opened his mouth to speak, but then must have thought better of it. Instead, he stormed into the house and I followed him. The conversation wasn’t over.
I was getting ready to ask him about his abandoned explanation when he growled and slammed the papers onto a side chair of the living room. “Goddammit! I need a drink.”
I watched him head for the bar and brace his hands along the edge, eyeing up the rainbow of bottles along the mirrored wall.
Oh no. No, no, no.
As riled as I was feeling, I still knew I had to stop this. Our fight took a backseat to the more immediate situation that had just presented itself.
I wanted to beg him not to do it. I wanted to sit him in a chair and talk him down from the ledge. But he’d started pacing around the room like a caged animal, hands clenched in fists at his hips, in his hair, against the bar. Talking wasn’t going to do it right then.
I intercepted him mid-pacing, halting him in his tracks with my hands at his shoulders, jogging him out of his stupor. He’d been in such a state that his eyes met mine in confusion, his expression glazed over momentarily. It was like I was awakening a sleepwalker as I dropped my towel, grasped his hands, and placed them on my breasts, trying to jog him out of his trance.
It worked.
His eyes suddenly turned dark and his lip curled into a leer.
I clashed my lips to his, kissing him hard, fisting his shirt in my hands, pulling him toward me and ramming my tongue in his mouth. Trip took the bait and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me to him fiercely, sliding a hand down to grip my ass, pressing my body into intimate contact with his, bending me backwards from the force of his kiss. Feeding off me. Taking.
My heart was beating a crazy rhythm, my body melting from his eagerness. I suddenly forgot about trying to create a diversion and just got caught up in the electric jolts that were invading my entire length, making me dizzy, the room spinning. His impatient lips tasted sweet, as always, his sugary warmth consuming me. The heat of us sharing the same gasping breaths, the power of his hunger overtaking mine. There was no tenderness there; there was no reason for it. There was only want. There was only need. There was only now.
Oooh. Angry sex.
He abruptly spun me around and pushed me away, forcing my body to bend over the back of the couch, holding me fixed there with a hand at my spine. I snuck a look at him over my shoulder as I hooked my thumbs into my bikini bottoms, ripping them down my legs quickly, hearing Trip groan.