Claimed (Diamond Tycoons 1)

It was that thought—along with her smarting pride—that finally made the decision for her. She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms down the front of her jean-clad thighs and turned to open the door.

“Hi, Marc,” she said as she once again peered up at him, a

fake—but bright—smile curving her lips upward. “Sorry about that. You caught me in the middle of something...” She tried to ignore the way her voice trailed off uncertainly, prayed that he would be gentleman enough to do the same. She didn’t know what it was about Marc Durand that turned her into a babbling schoolgirl with a crush on the most popular boy in school, but she didn’t like it.

Marc must have been feeling merciful, because he didn’t call her on her blatant lie. Nor did he try to put his hands on her. Instead, he raised a brow and asked, “Can I come in?”

No. She had spent the past two hours eradicating his presence from her house and now he wanted back in? With his gorgeous scent and his larger-than-life personality and his big hands, which he had used to drive her to orgasm again and again?

No, he couldn’t come in. He shouldn’t come in.

But, big surprise, knowing the danger was very different from acting on it. Instead of sending him away with another slammed door in his face, she pulled the door open wider and stepped back so he could get inside without his body brushing against her traitorous one. “Of course, yes. I assume you’re here for your socks?”

Both brows went up this time. “My socks?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat, awkwardly. “They’re very nice socks. I found them when I was straightening up. You must have forgotten them when you left this morning.”

Very nice socks? Was she suddenly twelve? she asked herself fiercely. Socks were socks, for God’s sake.

Judging by the strange look he shot her, Marc definitely seemed to think so, too. “Oh, um, thanks? I hadn’t really noticed.”

“How do you not notice that you’re not wearing socks with your dress shoes?” She glanced down at his bare ankles doubtfully, even as she told herself to forget about the damn socks. “I can’t believe your shoes are all that comfortable, even if they are Hugo Boss.”

Then she bit her lip because, really, could she sound more obsessed? She kept harping about his “nice socks” and she knew what kind of dress shoes the man wore. He was probably counting himself lucky for the narrow escape he’d made this morning.

But he didn’t seem to be inching away in alarm, any more than he seemed concerned by her intimate knowledge of his footwear. Instead he simply said, “I’ve had other, more important things on my mind today.”

For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was talking about her. About them. Her stomach jumped with excitement, even as her brain quelled the reaction. Despite her rather asinine reactions since he’d come to the door, she didn’t want him, she reminded herself firmly. And he couldn’t possibly want her. Not after all the ugliness that had passed between them—both six years ago and again this morning.

With that thought front and foremost in her mind, she cleared the last of the weirdness away and demanded, “So what are you doing here, then? I don’t have much time to stand around and talk—I’ve got a date in a couple hours and I have to get ready.”

“You have a date.” He said the words in a flat, emotionless tone that she might have mistaken for disbelief, and lack of concern, if she hadn’t seen the spark of anger in the depths of his eyes.

“I do.” It was really more of an afternoon cocktail party to celebrate the opening of a prestigious jewelry collection by one of her former students at a local gallery, but she wasn’t going to tell Marc that. Not when that event was the only thing standing between her and the utter humiliation that came with reliving the morning, when Marc had walked away from her without a backward glance.

“I do.”

“With that professor from yesterday?” His voice was a growl now, his eyes a few shades darker than normal. And suddenly he was walking deeper into the house, each step causing her to retreat a little more until her back was, literally, against the wall and he was standing right there, his powerful body pressing into her as he looked down at her, his eyes hot and his mouth twisted in a displeased snarl.

There was a part of her that wanted to give in to his obvious dominance, but that part didn’t get to be in control. So she tilted her chin up and met him glare for glare. “How is who I go out with any of your business?”

“Oh, it’s my business,” he growled as his hand came up to bracket her throat, his fingers resting on her collarbone while his thumb rubbed gently against the love bite he’d sucked into her throat sometime last night. His hold wasn’t painful, wasn’t even threatening. Instead, it was possessive, arousing as hell, though she fought to keep from acknowledging that fact.

“It isn’t,” she assured him.

“It is.” His fingers massaged her collarbone before sliding slowly up her neck to her cheek. “I was the one inside you just a few hours ago. The one making you come. The one making you scream.”

She melted at his words, her lower body going hot and wet at the snarly, desire-filled sound of his voice. But still she held her ground, refusing to let him know how much he affected her. “Maybe. But you were also the one babbling about closure and hightailing it out the door this morning as fast as your feet could carry you.”

He wrapped his other hand around her waist. “I don’t babble.”

“And I don’t beg,” she told him firmly.

“You begged me last night.” He stepped even closer, dropping his head so that his lips were barely an inch from hers.

She felt her muscles go weak, felt herself sag against him for one precious second. Then two. Then three. His hand curved around the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, and she almost gave in. Almost gave herself up to him again. It’s what her body wanted—more of the insidious pleasure he could bring her with just a touch of his fingers, his lips, his skin.

But then memories of what it had felt like when he’d kicked her out of his apartment all those years ago rose up inside her, mingled with the hurt from this morning that she’d tried so hard to deny all day.