No, she wanted the hard, dominant man to press her into the mattress while he rammed himself inside her for hours. Wanted to feel his mouth slide all over her body before he licked her between her legs and made her come so hard she just might pass out. Wanted to hear him whisper in her ear all the dirty, wicked things he would do to her just before he sunk his fingers deep inside her welcoming, wet body…
Guilt swamped her. She shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t do it, either. She’d included that damn no-sex clause specifically to prevent this sort of situation. Yet there she was, ready to risk it all and do the very thing she told herself she wouldn’t do during her marriage: have sex with her husband.
But Jared was like a drug. An addiction she was too weak to fight. She was so tired of fighting…
“Is something bothering you, Sheridan?” He watc
hed her like a hawk—ha ha, bad pun. That narrowed gaze settled on her face and he still hadn’t stepped back. Which was bad because she could feel him, smell him, practically taste him and if he didn’t watch it, he’d have some crazed woman—otherwise known as his wife—attacking him in the middle of the kitchen in the middle of the morning.
“You’re bothering me.” She tried to shove past him but he grabbed hold of the crook of her arm at the last minute, halting her progress. His grip was firm, his fingers seemed to burn against her skin, and she whirled on him, her anger fueling her. “Let me go.”
“No.” His thumb smoothed over her skin in the gentlest of caresses and her body reacted instantaneously, gooseflesh scattering.
“Don’t get all bossy and Neanderthal on me now.” She jerked against his hold, which made him tighten his fingers around her arm even more. “Jared, I’m not in the mood.”
“What exactly are you in the mood for?” He practically dared her. Did he realize it? That he was goading her on? Or was he completely clueless?
She tilted her head back, contemplated kissing him but realized she’d have to throw herself at him to reach his lips. He appeared so imposing. Unyielding. So she’d do the next best thing. The thing she’d been dying to do for days. Weeks.
Stepping into him, she tugged up his shirt with her free hand, revealing his gorgeously flat stomach, the path of golden brown hair that trailed from his navel past the waistband of his shorts.
Releasing a stuttering breath, she drew her fingers across his flesh, pulling his shirt higher to reveal his chest. She leaned into him, and pressed a kiss there, right at the center of his heart. It beat frantically beneath her lingering lips, his musky, spicy scent intoxicating her. Arousing her. Tilting her head back, she met his gaze, saw all the dark, turbulent heat swirling in the depths of his eyes. “This,” she whispered.
He didn’t so much as move a muscle and neither did she. The salty taste of him lingered on her tongue and she licked her lips, wanting more. So much more…
“Sheridan.” His voice was an achy whisper. She saw it then. The lust flaring in his gaze, the want written all over his face, that she couldn’t mistake.
He wanted it. He wanted her.
Triumph surged through her and she smiled. Gasped when he wrapped his strong hands around her arms and set her away from him. The smile fell, as did her hopes when she watched him walk away from her without a backward glance.
“Wait a minute…” She charged after him, anger surging through her at how easily he dismissed her. God, she was so sick of this. She wanted him. Couldn’t he see that? Did she need to wear a sign around her neck or what? Either the man was completely clueless or…
Or he didn’t want her back.
Okay, that was a reality she couldn’t face.
“We’re not doing this, Sheridan,” he threw over his shoulder, confirming her fears, his long-legged stride nearly impossible for her to keep up with.
But she did her damnedest, speeding up as quickly as she could. “Stop avoiding me, Jared.”
“You’re the one who said you weren’t in the mood.”
“To argue,” she stressed, stopping in the doorway of his bedroom, almost afraid to enter his inner sanctum. This was his private space, the one spot he was able to retreat to in the entire house without worry of intruders. It felt like an invasion of privacy, her trying to sneak in. “You know what I was implying.”
He tore off his skullcap and tossed it on the edge of the bed, then rested his hands on narrow hips, his back to her. Her gaze dropped to his very fine backside, gobbling up the delicious view with her eyes. The tension radiated off of him in palpable waves. He seemed tortured, conflicted, and she could so relate. “I’m not going to push myself on you,” he muttered.
“I’m the one who pushed myself on you.” She leaned against the doorway, feeling infinitely stupid. The man just didn’t get it. “But I guess you don’t want me. Is that it? Which is fine. I just…I guess I thought…” She hung her head, sighing loudly. Her entire body deflated like a balloon. “I don’t know what I thought.”
Shoving away from the doorframe, she turned, ready to slink off into her bedroom where she could shut the door and nurse her self-inflicted wounds. She’d boldly followed him. After throwing a minor hissy fit over freaking blueberry muffins, she’d told him exactly what she wanted. The guy had a reputation as a man whore and yet he had no interest in the woman he’d married. Granted, the marriage was fake. But still.
The knowledge hurt—tremendously.
Strong fingers gripped her arm, whirling her around so she faced a very pissed off, very edgy looking man. He pushed her against the wall, pinned her there with both his hands pressing against her shoulders and she stared up at him, her lips parting when she saw the anger and turmoil written all over his handsome face.
“You think I don’t want you.” His breathing was accelerated, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, brushing against hers, and she inhaled sharply when he removed his hand from her shoulder, drifting his curved fingers down the length of her throat so lightly she wondered if he’d actually touched her at all. “You’re fucking killing me, Sheridan.”
A shudder moved through her at his gentle touch, the feel of his fingers as they curled around her chin and tilted her face up. He lowered his head, his movements agonizingly slow, and she parted her lips, a trembling exhalation of breath leaving her when his mouth brushed hers. Her knees wobbled, threatened to buckle, and she slapped her hands against the wall, palms flat, bracing herself so she wouldn’t fall.