“It fucking is,” he retorted.
“God!” I shouted, throwing out my hands. “Why are we talking about how my house smells?” I narrowed my eyes and swiftly kept speaking so he wouldn’t answer since I didn’t care about his answer. I cared about another answer. So I asked that question. “And why are you here?”
“Here to return this shit.” He toed the box with his boot but didn’t take his eyes off me. “And to warn you again to stop pullin’ this shit.”
“Then I’ll say again I’m not pulling any shit,” I declared.
“And I’ll repeat, I don’t believe you,” he stated.
“And I’ll repeat, I don’t care,” I returned.
He took a step toward me and I took a step back, eyes locked to his.
He hesitated, his head again tilting in that strangely intimidating way, then he kept coming at me.
I kept retreating.
He started speaking as we moved.
“It was a good play, usin’ that crate. What’s inside guaranteeing good women will go all out to have your back. But it’s still a play. You know it. I know it.”
I hit wall.
He invaded my space, tipping his chin way down to keep my gaze.
And he kept talking, lower, rougher, and his tone was more intimidating than any head tilt.
“You need to release Tyra before your shit causes Club shit, which you know, Millie, will be seriously uncool.”
“And, again, High, I am not playing some game where I pulled Tyra or her friends in to help me do anything,” I told him. “So you can repeat that until the cows come home but I can’t control her. Hell, I don’t even know her.”
“You knew her enough to give her that box.”
“She came here,” I shared. “I did not ask her. I barely spoke to her. I asked her to get rid of that crate. Not give it to you.”
“You knew what she’d do when she saw what was inside,” he derided. “She’s a sister.” His face dipped closer and his voice went quiet. “You got a *, baby, know that *, tasted it, fucked it, so know you definitely got a *. That means you knew what she’d do.”
God, he was such an asshole.
“You’re disgusting,” I announced bitingly.
“You didn’t think I was disgusting when you were on your knees for me,” he returned, still quiet, still close.
But it was the wrong thing to say, reminding me how he’d used me for his revenge fuck.
Very wrong.
And so I was done.
Done.
“Move back,” I snapped.
His eyes dropped to my mole and, damn it, the insides of my thighs started tingling, even though I was done.
“Got a mind to change yours about how disgusting you think I am,” he murmured distractedly.
“Move back, High,” I warned, and on his name, his eyes sliced to mine.
“That name’s not yours to use,” he grated.
“If you leave, I won’t use it,” I fired back.
“Got a lesson to teach,” he returned, and my belly curled.
Oh God.
What did that mean?
“Move back,” I repeated, my voice weakening with fear and something else a whole lot different.
“Give you what you want,” he said, his gaze again dropping to my mole, his voice again going soft. “Give you what you want so you’ll give up the game.”
“This is no game,” I whispered what I knew for certain to be the truth, and he looked into my eyes again.
“Oh yeah it is, Millie. And this time, I’m gonna get what I want when I win.”
Oh God!
This was not happening.
And suddenly, his mouth was on mine.
God.
It was happening.
I twisted my head away, lifted my hands to his chest, and pushed hard, shouting, “Move back!”
His torso swung away at my shove but then it swung right back in as the rest of his big body got closer, pinning me to the wall at the same time his hand came up and fisted in my ponytail, giving it a gentle-rough jerk that caught my attention.
It also caught my body’s attention and more than my inner thighs started tingling.
“Do not pull away from me,” he growled.
“Please leave,” I begged, not above that.
Oh no, I was not above begging at all.
I had to stop this.
Immediately.
And I’d do anything.
“Not until I make my play.”
“High—” I started another plea but stopped when his eyes fired, his hand in my hair pulled my head back, and his mouth came back down on mine, crushing it, pushing my lips against my teeth so I had a funny taste in my mouth.
But I felt High.
And I smelled him.
His body to mine, his hand in my hair, his lips on mine, his scent, all this permeated my anger and fear and when it did, it weakened my resolve.
But it didn’t kill it.
I had enough left to twist away so his lips slid up to my cheekbone.
“You’re hurting me.”
He positioned me to facing him using my hair and went back in, not for a kiss, to nip my bottom lip with his teeth.
I went still.
Because it wasn’t hurtful.
It was playful.
Logan was playful a lot when we’d been together.
A lot.
Especially sexually.
I loved it. I missed it when it was gone in a way that I craved it.
And there it was.
Oh...
Fuck.
“Then I’ll quit doin’ that,” he whispered, and went back in.
He quit doing that. His mouth on mine was hard, it was demanding, but it wasn’t painful.
It was coaxing.
Oh man.
“Logan,” I murmured against his lips, unable to stop it.
“And she gives it,” he muttered against mine, then swept his tongue into my mouth.
I tasted him and when I did, it hit me.
He wanted this. He’d come for it. No matter what it was for him, he’d found out where I lived and he’d come for it.
Teaching a lesson.
Playing a game.
It didn’t matter.
Because for me, outside those I gave myself, I’d had only one orgasm in twenty years and Logan had given it to me.
He was intent on giving me another one?
Fuck it.
I’d take it.
But this time, I’d go in knowing what this was.
He’d used me before.
I’d use him now.
There were worse ways to end a brilliant evening of delicious food, fine wine, and Britain’s classy version of soap opera.