He took her by the upper arms, his fingers digging into her flesh with almost brutal strength. ‘You should know me well enough by now to know how foolish it is to throw a gauntlet down like that before me.’
Eliza suppressed another little shiver as she flashed him a defiant look. ‘I’m not scared of you.’
His fingers tightened even further as he jerked her hard against him. ‘Then perhaps you should be.’ And then his mouth swooped down and slammed against hers.
It was a bruising kiss but Eliza was beyond caring. The crush of his mouth on hers brought all of her suppressed longings to the surface of her body like lava out of a volcano. She felt the raw need on her lips where his were pressed so forcefully. She felt it in her breasts as they were pushed up against his chest. She felt it unfurling deep in her core, that twisting, twirling, torturous ache that was moving throughout her body at breakneck speed.
How had she gone for so long without feeling this feverish rush of passion? It was like waking up after a decade of sleep. Every pore of her skin was alive and sensitised. Every muscle and sinew was crying out for the stroke and glide of his touch.
His tongue stroked hers until she was whimpering at the back of her throat. His hands were still hard on her upper arms, his fingertips gripping her with bruising force, but she relished in the feel of his commanding hold. His proudly aroused body was pressed intimately against her. She felt the hard ridge of him against the femininity of her body. The barrier of their clothes was torture. She wanted him naked and inside her, filling her, stretching her—making her feel alive in a way no one else could. She moved against him, speaking in a silent and primal feminine language that was universal.
But, instead of answering the call to mate, he dropped his hold and pulled back from her. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if to remove the taste of her. It was a deliberately insulting gesture and she wanted to slap him for it. But she would rather die than show him how much he had hurt her.
‘You’ve certainly got the Neanderthal routine down pat,’ she said, pushing back her hair with a flick of her hand. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t haul me upstairs by the hair to your lair.’
His dark eyes mocked her. ‘Surprised or disappointed?’
She held his look with a sassy one of her own. ‘I wouldn’t have done it, you know. I wouldn’t have slept with you.’
The corner of his mouth kicked up cynically. ‘No?’
‘I was playing with you.’ She straightened her wrap over her shoulders with fastidious attention to detail. ‘Seeing how far you’d go.’
When she finally brought her gaze back to his another involuntary shiver trickled down her spine at the sexy, knowing glint shining there.
‘You know where to find me if you feel like playing some more. My room is three doors down from yours. You don’t have to knock. Just come right in. I’ll be waiting for you.’
Eliza gave him a crushing look. ‘Your confidence is seriously misplaced.’
His mouth tilted sardonically as he turned to make his way up the stairs. ‘So is yours.’
Eliza was up early the following morning. Not that she had slept much during the night. The needs Leo had awakened made her feel restless and twitchy. All night long her mind had raced with a flood of memories of their past affair—racy little scenes where she had pleasured him or he had pleasured her. Erotic little flashbacks of her lying pinned beneath his rocking body, or her riding him on top until she gasped out loud. They all came back to haunt her—to torture her with the gnawing ache of want that refused to be suppressed. Was that why he had stepped back when he did? He wanted to make her own her need of him. He was playing with her like a cat did with a hapless mouse.
She wasn’t going to let him break her. She knew he wanted her pride as a trophy. He wanted to have all the power, to be able to control what happened between them this time around. She understood his motivations. She had hurt him. She regretted that.
But on the battleground between them was a small defenceless child.
It wasn’t fair to let Alessandra get hurt by the crossfire. Any arguments they had would have to be conducted in private. Any resentment would have to be shelved until they were alone.
As she was dressing after her shower Eliza noticed her upper arms bore the faint but unmistakable imprint of his fingers where he had gripped her the night before. It made her belly quiver to think he had branded her with his touch. She slipped on a three quarter length cardigan to cover the marks. She didn’t want to have to explain to Marella or to Laura, the agency girl, how they had got there.
Laura was all packed up ready to leave when Eliza went to the nursery suite. ‘Alessandra’s still asleep,’ she said, nodding towards the little girl’s room. ‘That’s the best she’s slept since I’ve been here. She’s been a little terror the whole time. I don’t think she’s slept two hours straight before. You must have a magic touch.’