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The oath was still on her lips when he crushed her mouth beneath his again. When he ended the kiss, it was only so he could cup her face, tilt it to him, look into those dark brown eyes and see what he wanted there, her despair and her capitulation.

What he saw in her eyes were the tears of a frightened woman.

Good, he thought savagely. That was the way he wanted her. Scared. Helpless. Ready to tell him everything he needed to know…

And then he stopped thinking and kissed her again. Gently. Softly…

In a heartbeat, everything changed.

Mia began to tremble, but in a way he understood. She clasped his shoulders and rose toward him, her lips yielding to the light pressure of his. She made that sound, the one that had almost driven him to his knees the last time, and let him inside the velvet warmth of her mouth.

And he was lost.

Lost in her heat. Her sweetness. In the feeling that they were alone on the planet, that nothing mattered but this. Nothing but this. This…

Matthew tore his mouth from hers.

Jesus, what was he doing?

He clasped her shoulders. Pushed her away, his breathing as ragged as if he’d run a mile, and let fly with the rage he felt at her for trying to seduce him, at himself for being such a damned easy mark.

“You keep offering,” he said, his voice low and flat, “and, sooner or later, baby, I’m going to accept.” Her face whitened and he caught her chin and forced her head up until her eyes met his. “You’re playing with fire, little girl. If you get burned, don’t blame me.”

Mia followed her captor into the house as obediently as a leashed dog.

Not that she had a choice.

He had a grip on her wrist that would have made her cry out, except she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.

He was on to her. Evidently she wasn’t as good at seducing a man as she’d hoped. One kiss, and he’d known what she was doing…

And wasn’t it a good thing that one of them did?

Because—because the ugly truth was, she’d gone from fighting him to wanting him in a heartbeat. Her reaction hadn’t been planned. It had just happened. His mouth had felt so tender. He’d tasted so good. Clean and masculine and—and, okay, if she was going for honesty, even when he’d been forcing his kisses on her, even as she’d fought him….

Even then, she’d wanted him.

She’d felt as if her entire body was on fire, a need and a heat blazing in her belly, in her breasts, that she’d never known before. She’d wanted him to carry her into the house, back her against the wall and take her and take her until she was sobbing his name…

“…coffee?”

She blinked in confusion. She’d only caught the end of whatever he’d said. Had it required an answer?

She moistened her lips. “I didn’t—I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, there’s a kitchen down the hall. Do you know how to make coffee, or does your usefulness begin and end in bed?”

For the second time in just a few hours, she wanted to rush at him and gouge runnels in his face, pound him with her fists—but she knew how pointless that would be. He was too big, too powerful, and he’d probably end up laughing at her.

Still, she was grateful for what he’d just said. It was the perfect reminder that her sexual fantasies about this unfeeling son of a bitch were sick.

“Actually, I could use a cup of coffee. Show me where the kitchen is and I’ll make some. Then, if you’re very lucky, there might be enough left for you.”

His mouth twitched. How nice, she thought coldly. She was providing comic relief.

“Down that hall. To the right. The coffee’s in the freezer, the sugar’s in the cupboard along with a couple of boxes of long-lasting milk.”

“Fine. Oh, one last thing.” She smiled sweetly. “Where do you keep the rat poison? I’d hate to keep you waiting while I search for it.”