And that was when he went for her.
As with their first kiss in the garden, in the darkness, in the summer heat, he rode an out-of-control emotion as he took her mouth, the instinct nothing that he was going to fight: One moment they were arguing, the next he’d lunged across the distance, grabbed her by the nape and was kissing her hard.
And just as before, she kissed him back.
It wasn’t passion on her side, though. He was pretty damn sure that for her, the meeting of mouths was nothing but an extension of their conflict, the verbal argument going nonverbal.
Lane didn’t care. He’d take her any way he could get her.
TEN
It was, of course, a perfectly stupid idea.
But as Lizzie kissed Lane back, it was as if she were funneling two years of anger, frustration, and pain directly into him. And damn him to hell, he tasted of bourbon and desperation and raw sex—and she liked it.
She missed it.
And didn’t that just make her more mad. She wanted to say that this was horrible. Against her will. A violation.
None of that was true. She was the one who thrust her tongue into his mouth, and she was the one whose fingers bit into his shoulders, and she was the one, God help her, who brought their bodies up close together.
So that she felt his erection.
His body hadn’t changed in the time they’d been apart, all hard muscle and long limbs. And he kissed the same as he had before, rough and hungry in spite of the fact that he’d been raised a gentleman. And the heat was just as hot.
And then, to make things even worse? Memories of them being together, skin to skin, straining, rocking, egged her on, burying all the hurt and sense of betrayal under an avalanche of erotic recollections.
For a split second, she realized that she was going to have sex with him then and there.
Yeah. ’Cuz that would show him she meant business.
Real Gloria Steinem moment.
Instead, something got knocked over on the table and a clatter broke the silence; then a splash draped her hip and upper thigh in a shock of cold water. Jumping up, she shoved him away with such force, he tripped and fell back, landing on the tile floor.
With a slash of her forearm, she wiped her mouth off. “What the hell are you doing!”
Dumb question. More like what was she doing.
He was up on his feet a heartbeat later. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I came back.”
“The feeling is not mutual—”
“Bullshit.” He reached for his glass and took a swig. “You still want me—”
“Get out!”
“You’re kicking me out of my own conservatory?”
“Either you leave or I do,” she snapped, “and these flowers are not going to get into those bowls themselves. Unless you want half your tables empty at your Derby party?”
“I don’t care what they look like. Or about the damn party. Or any of this—” As he waved his hand around, it might have been more convincing if he hadn’t had a ration of his family’s bourbon in that glass of his. “I’ve left this behind, Lizzie. I’m really done with it.”
Motrin. That’s what she needed.
Less being around him, more pain relief in a bottle.
“I give up,” she muttered. “You win. I’ll go.”
As she turned away, he caught her and spun her around, dragging her against that body of his. It was then that she noticed how much older he’d gotten since she’d seen him last. His face was leaner, his stare more cynical, and the crow’s-feet were deeper at the corners of his eyes.
Unfortunately, it only made him look more handsome.
“None of the crap with Chantal is what you think,” he said darkly.
“Even if only half of it was—”
“You don’t understand—”
“I was in love with you.” As her voice cracked, she pushed away from him. “I didn’t think we were going to get married necessarily, but not because you were heading to the altar with someone else. Who was pregnant—and got that way while you were with me.”
“I’d ended it with her, Lizzie. Before I came back here that April, I told her it was over.”
“That didn’t stick, though, did it—”
“She was three months along when I found out, Lizzie. Do the math with me. The night before I came home for Mother’s birthday at the end of March was the last time I was with Chantal. You and I … we got together that May, and it was at the end of June that I found out about the pregnancy. If you remember, I didn’t leave Easterly that entire time. You knew where I was every night and day because I was with you.” He stared down at her. “Three months along. Not two months, not one month. Three, Lizzie.”
She put her hands to her face, fighting the logic. “Please stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Saying my name. It gives you the illusion of credibility.”