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“I don’t need balls.” I buck against him, and the faintest hint of his erection has me sucking in a sharp breath. “But it’s nice to know you were thinking I had a set to match your own. Is that what turns you on? My massive balls?”
“No.” His laughter is low and sinister, barely audible as it flitters over my neck. “I’ll be honest and say everything about you turned me on last night.”
Those mind-numbing tingles sink deeper inside me. My arms, my legs, even my toes buzz from the potential distraction.
“Everything about you still turns me on,” he whispers.
I close my eyes, sinking under his confounding spell. He’s not begging me for sex. There’s no passion. No heat or urgency. His words are cold and emotionless, yet still coated with a devilishly seductive edge I can’t ignore.
I need to learn to ignore it.
He knows where I live, which wouldn’t be an issue due to my security measures if he’d become the one-night-stand I intended him to be. But now he also knows I’ve lied about my name. I’ve told him I have weapons stashed in my apartment. And he’s aware of two of my regular haunts—Atomic Buzz and the boxing class I now have to quit taking.
He’s chipping away at my privacy, and I need those pieces back.
I wiggle in an attempt to break free and ignore the heavy weight of disappointment when he lets me go. I face him, and the simplicity of what stares back at me turns my insides to mush.
He’s not smiling. No, those lips are a flat line. His arms fall limp at his sides. There’s no warmth or seduction. No cocky smirk. Just him. Just eyes that sink into me, whispering promises beyond my wildest fantasies.
Everything about you still turns me on.
His confession washes away the panic, and in its place, arousal blooms.
He stalks toward me, and I hold my ground, tilting my head to maintain contact with those predatory eyes. He brings us foot to foot, almost hip to hip. The looming wall of a man stands before me, expressionless, emotionless, apart from all the devastatingly calm superiority.
My mouth salivates.
His hand snaps up, aiming for my chin, but I smack it away. He grins, tries again, and fails after another one of my slaps.
My turn, big guy.
I launch my hand at his throat. He doesn’t defend himself. He stands there, letting me wrap my fingers around his neck as his eyes flash. I’m taunting a bear. Poking the giant. I wonder if he’ll crush me, mentally or physically.
“We can spar all you like.” His offer brings chills. “But I’m sure you’d prefer it without any clothes on.”
The temptation of his statement wraps around my chest. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. He’s right. So painfully, unbelievably right.
“No.” My grasp on this situation is slipping, sliding. My fingers grip the cliff’s edge, but the ground crumbles beneath my grasp. “Get out, before I make you leave.” The demand clogs my throat, coming out in a garbled mess.
“You don’t want that.”
“Don’t I?” Fuck him and his incredibly clear insight. “Will my knee in your junk prove otherwise? Or maybe you need my fist in your face.”
“Have at it, princess. I’m no stranger to pain.”