Gillian gasped, her fingers clutching his shirt. “We are so not doing this,” she said, feeling another flush of anger flood her body. Then she began to wriggle inside his embrace, her legs scissoring violently.
Billy cursed softly, nearly dropped her, then hiked her higher in his arms. “Don’t know how else to get you to talk to me,” he said, grunting and turning to take her through the doorway into her bedroom. “Now, I don’t want to hurt you, so stop fighting me.”
“Too late. I have the bruises to prove it. And maybe, I want to fight—to kick the hell out you!”
He dumped her on the mattress and stood with his hands fisted on his hips, which only managed to make him look more intimidating. His broad chest was rising and falling fast. His face was reddened, his lips clamped into a narrow line.
And for some perverse reason, arousal stirred deep inside her, pricking her nipples into taut little buds, sending those dangerous little darts of excitement toward her belly where they curled around and around her womb.
She jackknifed off the bed and flew at him, her arms swinging, her hands smacking his chest, a fist connecting with his jaw.
Billy took it, opening his arms and holding them wide while she gave him her best shots. She hit his solid jaw again and pain radiated up her arm, and she stumbled back, cupping her hand.
“You through?” he said, and she didn’t miss the humor edging his deep, rumbling voice.
She stomped her foot. “Completely! With you. With all of you. Get the fuck out of my house.”
He dropped his arms, dragged in a breath and blew it out in deep, long sigh. His shoulders slumped. “All right.” Turning on his heels, he walked steadily out of her bedroom.
“All right?” she croaked.
He halted at the door, not looking back. “It’s what you want. I’ll go.”
“And you believe me?”
The glance he shot over his shoulder was dark, annoyed, watchful…
“You said you loved me,” she said, wishing she could take it back, because she knew she sounded needy and pathetic. And she really was still furious with him. But Jesus, he couldn’t go.
He turned and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “I do love you,” he said softly.
She shrugged then realized she was still naked, with clumps of suds sliding down her skin. “Then how can you just leave me?”
“I wanted to ask you to come with me. Part of that conversation you don’t want to have.”
Her eyes filled, blurring his image. His arms dropped, and he strode forward.
Then she was in his arms, crying against his chest, clinging to his solid frame.
Those powerful arms closed tight around her, then loosened so that he held her as though she was fragile, breakable. “Shhhh…it’s gonna be okay. I promise,” he crooned against her hair.
She shook her head. “I don’t see how.”
“You’ll get through today, and the next. And when you wake up scared, I’ll be there. You can thump me however often you need. I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember your name, much less the fact you’re still mad at me.”
She sniffed. “Promise?”
His chest shook beneath her cheek. “Want me to start right now?”
Her body was way ahead of her heart. She nodded, scraping her cheek up and down.
He bent, and once more, he was carrying her, lowering her to the mattress.
“I don’t want to see Gabriel ever again in my dreams,” she said, reaching out to him.
“Can you manage to be polite when we’re at work?” he said, lying on top of her, fully clothed.
She blinked. “I’m going to be working?”