Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

“I’m not two timing,” I say, but as I press the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I disconnect the call by mistake.

Fudge.

“I’m not asking you to,” Ryan growls deep in his throat.

Er. “What?”

“Not asking you to two-time. Are you spending time with Riddick to make me jealous?”

I squint at him. “Is it working?”

That’s a good idea. Why didn’t I think of it?

… because I like Riddick way too much to use him like that. Because… because I’m falling for him, too.

And because I never thought it’d work. Mainly because to be jealous, first you have to be interested, and Ryan’s not interested in me… right?

We covered that.

“Of course it’s not working!” Ryan snaps, and a vein is ticking in his jaw. Golden stubble covers it, and I wonder what it would feel like to drag my tongue over it. “Honestly…”

I swallow hard. “Good.”

“Good?” His eyes narrow.

“Yes.” Why is he looking at me like that? “That’s… good, isn’t it? That it’s not working on you? Since you don’t like me?”

“Why the hell would you think you know who I like and who I don’t?” He pushes off the doorframe, and let’s not mention how sexy his bulging biceps are because I shouldn’t be paying them any attention, and neither should you. “You know nothing about me.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I know a lot, more than it’s healthy, but all that comes out is, “Screw you, Ryan.”

“You wouldn’t know how,” he retorts, stepping inside my office, hands clenched into fists, held at his sides. “You don’t even know what sex is, do you?”

Tears prickle my eyes, and it’s mostly anger. Okay, and partly mortification. “What’s the matter with you? You’re such an ass.”

His steps falter, and his brows shoot up. “Bry…”

“You’re unbearable.” I jab a finger in his direction, taking a step back. “I can’t stand your attitude anymore. You’re a—”

His body slams into me, and his mouth lands on mine, hard and hot, his hands on my face, big and strong. He holds me still as he kisses me, swallowing the words I’m still trying to speak. I struggle a little, mainly from momentum and reaction—and because what in the world?

He walks me backward until I hit the wall, and his whole body presses into mine. It feels delicious, every hard plane and angle molding to my curves, his stubble scraping my skin, his soft lips a counterpoint of pleasure, his hands sliding to the back of my neck to cradle my head as he eats me up, every thrust of his tongue a bolt of fire straight to my core.

I shouldn’t… my brain is desperately struggling to catch up, trying to tell me to stop, but I’ve fed on the memory of his kiss so many times, it’s impossible to be rational about this. The memory pales in the face of this kiss. It’s so much better, so much hotter than I remembered. His taste… like dark rum and liquid gold.

His leg nudges between mine, and I let them part, letting him in. His muscular thigh presses where I need him, and I moan in his mouth. He slides his hands down to my waist, lifting me and rocking me on his thigh, the friction between my legs igniting a spark inside me.

Out of the blue, pleasure tears me apart, and I writhe, a moan bursting from me. His mouth crushes my lips, bruising—then the kiss turns unexpectedly sweet, a caress.

And the reality of what just happened crashes on me.

I let him…? What am I doing?

I put my hands on his chest and shove. He stumbles back, his eyes snapping open—why were his eyes closed?—and stares at me as if waking from a dream.

“Bry…” he starts, but I shake my head.

Stepping around him, I grab my purse and coat and make a beeline for the door, annoyed at the lingering ripples of pleasure deep inside me, the burn of his kiss on my lips.