She did a double take. “Are you running your uncle’s campaign?”
He took a step closer. “As far as you’re concerned, yes.”
She bristled. “Does Gordon know about this? I’m a solid volunteer. And committed.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
A lump rose in her throat. She couldn’t blame him for not believing her. She probably wouldn’t either if she were in his place.
“If Gordon says I can’t walk East Oakland, then I won’t. Otherwise, I don’t see why I can’t help the campaign.”
He covered the distance between them as he spoke, and now was within arm’s reach. His presence seemed to occupy more space than his body actually inhabited.
“You’re not going to walk East Oakland because I say you’re not. Got it, pet?”
Whoa. He did not just call her that. She quickly put down her glass of water, as if she needed to get ready for a boxing match.
“I’m not your pet,” she replied evenly, already perturbed that he was telling her what she could or couldn’t do, but she’d allowed it to pass because she understood where he was coming from. However, there was no reason to use that term with her.
Squaring her shoulders again, she decided it was time for her to go. This conversation wasn’t going to end well.
“I should—” she began.
But his mouth mu
ffled the rest of her words.
Lightning bolts shot through her, the kind she got on a roller coaster—part panic, part thrill. She would have pushed away—she wasn’t ready for this, hadn’t asked for this—but he had some kind of kung-fu grip on her neck, holding her in a way that made her feel as if he might break her neck if she moved wrong. He tended to go for her neck, perhaps the most vulnerable part of the body, always holding her in a way that left her helpless.
So all she could do was submit to his brutal kiss. His lips crushed hers so bad, it hurt. And yet, exhilaration rushed through her. A rational dissection of what this meant—maybe he didn’t hate her, maybe he was just being an asshole—would come later. For the present, she could do nothing but drown in the pressure, the heat, the excitement that was Ben.
He devoured her, his hot mouth leaving no centimeter of hers untouched, unclaimed. It was so bruising, so raw, that she almost thought he didn’t know the force he used because he was drunk, but she knew Ben wouldn’t drink to impairment. Something else fueled his vigor.
To her immense relief, he dropped his hold from her neck to her waist so that he could pull her to him. She slammed into his body, and the hardness at his groin snapped her to attention. She pushed against him, breaking the kiss.
He stared down at her with a look she recognized all too well, a look that said she was about to be eaten alive.
Get out while you can, Kimani.
But in addition to the scrum of emotions inside her, she was pissed. What gave him the right to kiss her like that? She wasn’t his pet. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even someone he was on a date with, where an unexpected kiss might have been the result of awkward timing or miscues. Ben was the sort of guy who knew exactly what he was doing. So this was the moment for her to put him in his place. In an old-fashioned movie, this was when a woman slapped the man across the face for taking liberties. Never mind that she could probably never occupy the same room as Ben without being sexually attracted to him. If she didn’t do anything or say anything, she would be condoning assault.
Oh, but being assaulted by Ben felt so good...
She tried pushing him away. It was a fairly weak attempt, perhaps because she knew that even if she used her whole strength, she was no match for him. The only way she could free herself is if he allowed it.
But she didn’t want to be a late-night booty call because maybe that beautiful woman with him earlier hadn’t been available tonight. She didn’t want him thinking that he could do whatever the hell he wanted just because her body responded like crazy to him. Being trapped against him was causing arousal to swirl in her groin, growing by the second.
She glared into his dilated pupils, his eyes bright with hunger. He was waiting for her response before he pounced and moved in for the kill.
So she pounced before he could.
Throwing her arms about him, she managed to bring his head down to hers before crushing her mouth to his. Maybe it was stupid to think she could impose herself on him, the way he had on her. Maybe she was giving him exactly what he wanted. But she didn’t want to be that girl seduced into submission, allowing a guy to take advantage of her indecision and ride roughshod over her reluctance. If she was going to end up on her back, it was going to be because she wanted it.
Even though she hated it.
She hated that she had fallen for this guy. She hated that she loved his every touch, no matter what kind it was. She hated that a part of her liked being called his pet.
Channeling her fury, she tried to bruise his lips as much as he had hers. She probably bruised her own more than anything, but she wasn’t going down as a weakling.