“Wait a second here, little girl,” I say, bristling at her negativity. "So I took a few creative liberties. But I’ve been working for free, so that’s got to count for something."
Well, shit. The way she's looking at me now, I know that little girl was definitely the wrong thing to say. Hell, this chick has me all messed up.
“I am not a little girl,” she says, her blue eyes flashing. She punctuates each word with a sharp inhale of breath, her breasts rising and falling underneath the top of her apron. I can’t even hear what she’s saying because all I can think about is covering her mouth with mine.
When she points her finger against my chest, I close my fingers around her wrist. My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans the second my fingers touch her skin. She’s angry and hates me, and I want her more than anything. And I think she wants me just as badly as I want her. “No, you’re not,” I growl. “You’re far from it.”
She pauses for a second, motionless, her eyes on mine. Then she wrenches her arm away. “You don’t get to come in here with all your … your … stupid macho bullshit and just … stir shit up like you think you know better than me how to run my own damn business. Or my life.”
“I didn’t tell you how to run your life,” I argue. Fuck, I can’t argue when I have a boner. I can’t think with her standing in front of me with those pouty lips that beg to be kissed and her cheeks flushed pink, the kind of pink that makes it look like she just had an orgasm. It only makes me want to give her one.
“You take over when I’m talking to my kid about her homework, tell her you bet she’s not good at math in some kind of attempt at reverse psychology, and –"
“You’re mad about that?” I ask, totally confused now. Confused and horny: that’s a stellar combination. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“That’s not the point,” she says, hands on her hips again.
“What’s the point then, woman?” I ask, exasperated. She makes me fucking crazy.
“The point is ” She exhales heavily and then inhales sharply. “That you’re fired. You … can’t come around here with your shirt off and all of your stupid muscles and tattoos and that damn beard – "
I don’t let her finish. Reaching behind her head, I grab a handful of hair and pull her against me, bringing my mouth down on hers. She melts against me, the same way she did when I kissed her before, except this time she doesn’t pull away. She moans into my mouth, reaching for my shirt and pulling me hard against her as she kisses me back.
This isn’t just a kiss. It’s whatever pent-up bullshit and tension there is that’s been between us since the moment I laid eyes on this woman. It’s still an argument, even though neither of us are speaking. Instead, our tongues war with each other, battling for which one is right.
When I finally pull away from her, her face is flushed and her lips are swollen from my kiss. Her eyes are lidded and heavy and lust is written all over her face. “You were saying something about me being fired.”
She makes a sound as I grip her hair tightly in my hand, a low moan under her breath. “You’re still fired,” she breathes.
“Good,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I’d hate to think you were a pushover.”
“I’m not a pushover,” she whispers as I reach around the back of her waist and yank the tie of her apron, undoing it with a single gesture. I let go of her hair long enough to toss the apron aside, taking a long look at her standing in front of me in her white t-shirt and fitted jeans.
I think I might have a t-shirt and jeans fetish now.
I bring my mouth down on hers again, even as doubts flash in my thoughts. I should leave her alone. What the hell do I think I’m doing, kissing a woman like this? This isn’t the way I should be touching her. Lily is classy, the kind of girl who gets flowers and foreplay, not fucked in a kitchen in the back of a store.
Then she moans again.
“I've been thinking about this the whole time I’ve been here,” I say, pulling her head back so she looks at me. “Tell me you've been thinking about my lips on yours."
Her lips move slightly, her mouth starting to form words, but she doesn’t speak.
“Tell me,” I growl.
Then the fucking phone rings.
The sound reverberates through the room, sucking out all of the air with it. And just like that, Lily’s expression changes. Something flits across her face – regret, maybe – and she shakes her head. “I … can’t,” she whispers.
“Forget the phone,” I growl. She’s wound tighter than any girl I’ve ever met. I want to rip her clothes off. I want to undo her.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. She puts her palm against my chest, half-heartedly pushing me back like she’s not quite sure what she wants to do. “No. I … can’t. You should leave now.”
“That’s not what you want,” I say, my voice softer now. "You don't want me to leave."