Game for Trouble (Game for It 2)

“Aw, come on. Eight dates to me implies some kissing would come into play.” He rolled his eyes to make it worse.

He was playing with fire. She was mad, but he couldn’t work up enough worry to let it bug him. At the moment, he’d rather see her angry than indifferent. That kiss had sucked. He knew she wanted him. Why couldn’t she just give in?

Maybe she has you all figured out, asshole. Maybe she knows what her dad did to you and doesn’t care.

Well, hell. That thought alone fueled his anger to a slow boil.

She parted her lips, stared at him incredulously. “That was incredibly rude,” she spat out.

“As if everything you’ve said to me has been filled with sweetness and light. You’ve been rude from the moment I came back into your life.” He did what he’d been dying to do since he stared at her lips earlier like a starvin’ man desperate for a taste.

He nipped her lower lip with the edge of his teeth, biting just hard enough to give her a sting but not so much that he’d draw blood. He was no vampire, but damn it felt good, sinking his teeth into the succulent flesh of her mouth.

“Ow!” She jerked away from him, sucking on her lower lip. Damn, that was hot. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“All you seem to want from me is a fight.” He released his hold on her and settled back in his seat. He was behaving like a complete asshat.

“So that calls for you to bite me? I can’t believe you did that.” She gingerly rubbed her lip with the tips of her fingers. Just watching her touch her mouth made him hard. Which made him angrier.

“Maybe it’s best if you get on in your house and lock the door,” he said, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. If he started growling at her next, he wouldn’t be surprised. “You’ve got me in such a temper I think we need a little distance.”

“Sounds fine to me.” She opened the car door and climbed out, bending down so she could look at him. “You could apologize, you know.”

“What if I’m not sorry?” He rubbed his hand over his cheek, contemplating her. She looked ready to say something—probably something mean—but she clamped her lips shut at the last minute and slammed the door.

She stalked up the sidewalk toward her front door, those womanly hips swaying, the curve of her ass in those tight jeans driving him wild. He’d chase after her if he was ensured a hot night of creative sex.

Tonight, he was done chasing.

Willow unlocked the door and opened it, pausing on the threshold. Frowning, he waited for her next move before he pulled away from the curb. He wasn’t about to leave until he knew for sure she was in her house safely.

He was a gentleman like that. Not that Willow much appreciated it.

Slowly, she turned to look at him, her face cast in shadow from the dim front porch light she left on. He couldn’t see her, had no idea what her expression was, but she seemed to be waiting.

For what?

She gestured at him, making circles in the air with her index finger, and he rolled down the passenger side window, leaning across the center console so he could yell at her. “What’s your deal, Cavanaugh?”

“Why haven’t you left?” she asked.

“I’m making sure no serial killers are lurking in your house.” Jesus, the woman questioned every single step he made.

“You really think there would be more than one serial killer lurking?”

That was it. That was fucking it. He put his car into park, shut off the engine, and pocketed the keys, sliding out of the car so he could stalk up the sidewalk much like she had only seconds ago, stopping so he stood directly in front of her, his hands on his hips, his frustration mounting to near inexplicable levels. “You enjoying this even more now that I’m fighting back?”

“Want me to be honest?”

“Always,” he said, nervous as hell to hear what she might say.

She hooked her fingers into the fabric of his sweater and drew him close. He nearly tripped on his own feet, he was so shocked by the sudden move. “Yes,” she breathed before she stood up on tiptoe and kissed him.

Chapter Five

God, he tasted so good. He could kiss all the sense right out of her mind and she wouldn’t protest. Couldn’t protest, either, since her voice had completely left her.

Nick could steal her ability to speak merely with his lips and a few strokes of his tongue.