Lies. All lies. All I’ve got is a date with Ben and Jerry, and my Kindle, where I’ll cry and fuss over Noah for a few hours before reminding myself that I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man. Then I’ll pick myself up, dust myself off, and do what I came here to do: Enjoy the peace and quiet—just me and my sewing machine as I work on more of my designs.
Yes. That’s exactly what I need.
Noah’s hand lands softly on my shoulder, and I drop my chin to my chest. I should’ve known he wasn’t going to let me get away that easily.
“Five minutes,” he says, spinning me around.
“I’m listening.”
“Would you at least look at me?” he asks.
“You’re asking for an awful lot here, mister,” I say, peeking up under spiked lashes—a reminder that I look like I’ve been run over by a train. Feeling self-conscious, I tug a hand through my hair. Or at least I try; Noah snags my wrist.
“You look beautiful.”
Son of a bitch, he’s making this whole staying mad thing hard. And he’s confusing the hell out of me. He’s an ass, he’s sweet, he kisses me, he’s an ass again, he’s sweet again. He’s playing a serious game of ping pong with my heart, and I’m not sure how much I can take.
“Look, Noah.” I take a deep breath, trying to find my words. “You don’t have to feel bad for what happened Monday. I pushed you too far. You told me you didn’t want anything more, and I didn’t respect that.”
“That’s what I want to talk—”
“Please,” I beg, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Please don’t make this harder or more awkward than it already is. I threw myself at you, and you don’t want me, so just let me walk away. Okay?”
“I can’t.” Noah pins me against the door. “And you’re wrong. I do want you, more than I should.” Dipping his head, his lips skim across mine, teasing me. “You’re a drug, and I can’t get enough of you.”
And then his mouth slams against mine, warm and unyielding. Our tongues duel for power, pushing, pulling, tasting, and somehow, it puts our first kiss to shame. This kiss is so much more. This time our bodies are on fire, writhing against each other, and I get it. I get what he was saying about being a drug, because this is an addiction.
He is addicting.
“I don’t want you to walk away,” he says between kisses.
A moan pulls from my throat, and Noah’s tongue plunges deep, garnering control—control of my mouth, control of my body, and if I’m not careful, he’ll gain control of my heart. This kiss is all-consuming and soul-shattering, and I want more.
So much more.
“Please,” I beg, though for what, I’m not real sure.
Noah’s hot mouth pulls from mine, his lips trailing along my throat as my head falls back against the door with a soft thud. Pushing his body against mine, he brings us flush from chest to thigh, his erection pressing firmly against my belly. I thrust my hips forward, pleading for some sort of friction. Ripping his mouth from my neck, he rests his forehead against mine, our chests heaving.
“We need to talk,” he says, breathlessly.
“Whatever you’re going to say, will it lead to more of this? Because I really like this.”
“Kissing or rubbing?”
“Both,” I breathe, nodding my head. “Definitely both.”
“If you let me talk, it could probably lead to a lot more than kissing and rubbing.”
Oh man. “Shutting up now.”
Noah grins and presses his lips against mine again. This time softly, more gently, and promising so much more than kissing and rubbing. He steps back, and I whimper because let’s face it, his body feels fantastic pressed against mine, and I’m not ready for that to be over.
“You promised more.”
He leads me to the couch and tugs me down next to him. “And you promised to let me talk.”
“Oh, fine,” I tease. “But can you make it snappy?”