“Is that what you think?” Tyce asked, gripping her wrists and holding her hands against his broad chest. And, just like that, heat flowed into her and her fingers tingled with the need to touch and to explore. She could feel the slow, hard thump of her heart against her tight ribs and her nipples tightened, desperate for attention.
Tyce was touching her and that was all that was important...
“Are you seriously asking me whether I was pretending to be attracted to you?”
Tyce’s harsh question reminded her that they were standing in an alley in the rain-tinged wind. Oh, and that she was as mad as hell with him.
“Are you insane?” Tyce demanded, his face saturated with frustration. He abruptly dropped her hands and slapped a hand on the top of her butt, jerking her into him. Sage released a surprised gasp when her stomach connected with the long, hard length of him. Holy cupcakes, he felt so good...
Tyce grabbed her elbows and lifted her off the ground, easily carrying her until her back touched the rough concrete wall. Holding both her wrists in one hand, he lifted her hands above her head, her breasts pushed into his chest. His deep, dark eyes met hers as he brushed her hair off her cheek. Sage held her breath as he slowly, so slowly dropped his head and his lips finally—God, he felt so good—covered hers.
His lips danced over hers, a soft, slow exploration, his tongue gentle as it wound around hers. She expected fire; she expected heat; she expected the maelstrom of want and need that always swirled between them but she didn’t expect tenderness or reassurance. She didn’t want to feel either. She wanted to be able to walk away from him, not be tempted to step closer... God, how could he make her feel like this?
Sage wrenched her mouth out from under his and glared up at him with what she hoped were stormy, accusing and not dreamy eyes.
“Did you kiss me to avoid the question?” she demanded, begging her heart to stop its relentless attempt to leave her chest. She dropped her eyes and, feeling the length of him still pressed against her, tried to pull her hands from his grip.
Tyce held her chin and forced her to look at him again. “I admit that I set out to meet you but this—” he hesitated “—crazy buzz between us had nothing to do with Lach-Ty, with the Ballantyne shares. It was, is, all you.” He pushed his hard erection into her stomach and closed his eyes. “And me. You walk into the room and I immediately start thinking about how soon I can get you naked.”
Dammit. His voice was deep and slow and lifted every hair on her neck. It made her want to feast on him, to gulp him up.
So much for finding some distance.
Tyce abruptly dropped her hands and stepped away from her, pushing his free hands into his hair. “It’s cold and—” he nodded to the camera above their head “—not the most private place for either kissing or conversation. We’ll talk more tonight.”
Sage nodded, her head hurting with an overload of information and emotion.
Two thoughts ran through her head like toddlers on a sugar high: I want him bad and it’s so bad that I want him.
Five
As an artist, Tyce immediately noticed the windows running from her floor to the ceiling, and massive skylights maximized the amount of light streaming into her loft apartment. This place was so Sage, he thought, looking around. The front door swiveled on a hinge in the middle of the frame as Sage closed the door behind him. The floor was comprised of light wooden planks holding a subtle tinge of pink. The wooden beams in the ceiling were partially stripped of their off-white cream paint, allowing the natural grain of the wood to bleed through. The entire loft was open-plan, except for a divider at the far end of the room, which suggested a bed and a bathroom hid behind. He looked up and saw the main bedroom overhead. There were two faded couches in a cream-and-nude stripe, beanbags tossed on the floor, and the back corner held her workbench and a massive corkboard containing sketches of her designs.
Tyce, because he appreciated the artist she was, immediately walked over to that wall, examining her sketches. There was an intricate diamond choker, a bracelet that reminded him of a serpent crawling up an arm and teardrop earrings. Tyce looked at her scribbled notes on each drawing where she’d detailed the stones she’d use. Four-carat emeralds here, a six-carat diamond there. Sage didn’t play around.