“Jesus! What are you doing?”
I move to step around him to collect the papers. His arms slashes out, gripping my upper arm, pulling me directly into him so our fronts are pressed firmly against each other’s. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
That little devil on my shoulder has a mind of her own. She’s urging me to dip forward and sneak one little taste of that sweet, spicy scent. Fucking traitor!
Cain continues to stare, his grip tightening. The way his rock-hard body is pressed against mine, I can feel the firmness of his chest and the length of his erection boring into my stomach. I don’t like being manhandled and I sure as hell don’t like the man standing so close to me. He’s pissing me the fuck off.
“What am I doing?” he growls. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
“Let go of me now, Cain. I’m not messing around, and to answer your damn question, I’m here because I want a divorce. This was never a marriage to begin with and now it’s in my way. Can you just sign the papers? Please?”
All of a sudden I become all too aware of what kind of man he has turned into when he switches our position, backing us up until my spine is firmly resting against the wall behind me.
“It’s in your way?”
“Yes. I’m engaged,” I lie, hoping he can’t tell. It’s the first thing that came to mind.
“You’re lying.”
He dips his face closer to mine. He still smells the same. All man. Intoxicating. Addicting. I need him to get away from me. I’m on edge and even quicker to defend myself while being trapped beneath his brute force. Anger rears its ugly head.
“I’m not. It’s been six goddamned years, Cain. Besides, even if I’m not engaged, what the hell business is it of yours, you son of a bitch?”
“I’m not signing, Calla. Never!”
On impulse my free hand comes up to push him back, but he’s firmly rooted in place, not budging at all. He brings one of his legs in between mine, nudging them apart. The slit on my skirt threatens to give way.
How dare he try to turn me on? How fucking dare my * clench with a familiar ache? How dare my eyes want to divert down to his dick? I’m just as mad at myself for being a disloyal little tramp as I am at him.
“You don’t know me anymore. I don’t know you. I never knew you. You’re a cheat. A drug dealer. A gun smuggler. And a fucking coward. I want nothing to do with you. I hate you. Goddammit, get away from me!” I scream.
“Shut up.”
He gathers both of my hands in his and lifts them over my head. I shake my head back and forth, my long hair flinging all over the place. I’m about to go stark raving mad. It’s been so long since he’s touched me. His rough hands feel the same. I’m on the verge of asking him to touch me here or kiss me there. He threads our fingers together and I clamp down on my tongue. Why after all this time is he doing this? Doesn’t he want his freedom, too?
“Calla.”
The sound of my name coming out of his mouth, as gentle and smooth as it used to, is my undoing. My mind tries in vain to block out how much I’ve missed having him this close, his lips only a hairsbreadth away from mine. A tear slips from the corner of my eye. I don’t want him to think I’m weak or for him to see he is getting to me. When he speaks again, my head is down. I keep it this way and close my eyes.
“You will never marry another man, not as long as I’m alive. You’re mine, Calla. I’ve waited way too fucking long for you to come back to me, and I will be damned if you are leaving here without hearing me out.”