Beth Kery - Since I Saw You

“The leap in your pulse along with the increase in your muscle tension could mean anxiety. Or it could mean you’re heating again.” He glanced up into her face and caught the burn in her cheeks. His gaze had grown heavy-lidded, somehow both satiated and aroused at once. Heating again . How aptly put. “In combination with the rest of the signs,” he said with a quick glance at her erect nipples, “I’d opt for the latter, though. Am I right?”

She licked at her lower lip nervously. “I think it might mean both anxiety and . . . the other thing.”

He released her wrist and cupped her waist, his large, warm hand and long fingers stretching from back to belly.

“What are you anxious about?” he growled softly.

“I don’t think Ian would approve of this, for one.”

His nostrils flared slightly. “He sent you to me, didn’t he? What right has he got to complain if we like each other? What’s it got to do with him?”

“You know it’s not that simple,” she chastised.

A frown pulled at his mouth. “Right. Let’s consider what Ian would want in this situation, by all means.”

He released her suddenly and rolled off the bed. She started at his abruptness—not to mention his simmering sarcasm—but then immediately became distracted by the image of him almost entirely naked, save for his jeans and underwear bunched around thighs that were long and solid as young oaks. Hadn’t Ian told her that Kam had built a sophisticated workout area in his underground home that took into account his intuitive understanding of the subtle mechanisms and physics of the human body? Ian was supremely in shape, but had wryly told Lin after he’d joined Kam in one of his workouts that he practically hadn’t been able to move for three days afterward.

Kam’s back was beautiful—all lean, defined muscle, a narrow waist that angled up to broad shoulders. He had more color in his skin than Ian, a swarthy gilt. There didn’t appear to be an ounce of fat anywhere. Lin supposed he wouldn’t have had much of a chance to acquire any, living a solitary, meager existence for so many years in the country. Arousal flickered in her sex at the vision of him carelessly jerking his underwear over his ass. The skin there was as smooth as his back, the buttocks powerful, round, very . . .

. . . grab-worthy.

She’d been mad to follow his demand and keep her hands out of the action.

“Bathroom?” he asked gruffly, breaking the settling spell of lust . . . and disappointment.

“Oh, there,” she pointed at a door to the right.

He came around the foot of her bed. He hadn’t buttoned his fly. As he walked, his hand cupped his exposed cock from below, sliding off the condom. He wasn’t as rock hard as he had been earlier, but his penis was still beautiful—shapely and slightly distended from his body.

Heat rushed through her, as powerful and stunning as it had been the first time. When he disappeared behind the bathroom door, she blinked and looked around her bedroom as if seeing her surroundings for the first time that night. She glanced anxiously at the closed bathroom door. Was he pulling himself together in there? Washing and fastening his clothing? She didn’t want to be sprawled on the bed with her skirt shoved up around her waist, her thighs spread, vulnerable and exposed when he returned. She sat up and dove for her sweater. When the door to the bathroom abruptly opened again, she hastily pressed the silk knit over her breasts, feeling like she’d been caught red-handed.

He stepped across the threshold, pausing when he saw her. A shadow of disgust—or was it disappointment?—crossed his bold features. He readjusted his jeans and fleetly fastened his pants, his ridged abdomen flexing. He hadn’t been pulling himself together in there. She watched helplessly as he stalked across the room and grabbed his wadded shirt and jacket off the floor.

“Are you . . . are you going?” she asked.

“Looks as if,” he said shortly, untangling his clothing.

“I didn’t mean you . . . that is . . . I’m sorry,” she fumbled. Why didn’t she know what she wanted in this situation? It was as if she couldn’t interpret her own desires anymore. Maybe it was best if he did go. Surely she’d regret her impulsive behavior. She rarely went to bed with men and never at the first meeting, which was no great shock. No one had worse luck with men than Lin; she must hold a world record for her number of abysmal first and only dates. But her judgment was especially lacking in Kam’s case. First of all, he wasn’t a date. He’d been a work assignment. Secondly, he was Ian’s brother, for God’s sake. Lin was always fastidious about keeping the boundaries intact between her work and her personal life. Not that she had much of a personal life outside of work and Ian, but . . .

Surely she’d also regret seeing Kam Reardon walk away in that moment as well.

You were right before. I was heating up . I shouldn’t have brought up Ian. That’s not for us to think about now.

“What I don’t get,” Kam said as he drew on his shirt, taut muscles flexing in a jerky, impatient motion, “is the limit.”

“The limit?” Lin asked slowly, his words interrupting the flow of her mental rehearsal for talking him into staying. His flashing, furious gaze made her pull the sweater tighter over her naked torso.

“Yeah. Weren’t you up for working overtime?”

It took a moment for his meaning to settle in. When it did, hurt and fury flooded her.

“How dare you say something like that to me! This,” she glanced back at the mussed bed, “had nothing to do with work.”

“Really? Nothing to do with Ian?” he bit out, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his jacket so forcefully she heard the seam protest with a ripping sound. “Everyone is always saying you’d do anything for him.”

“No,” she exclaimed, standing. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that. But then a thought occurred to her, and she paused in her heated defense. Her uncharacteristic behavior tonight did relate to Ian, didn’t it? To her secret, buried feelings for him? Too late, she realized Kam had noticed her sudden distraction.

“Did Ian ask you sleep with me? Soften me up a little? Make the stubborn country relation a bit more malleable? Palatable?” he demanded quietly, taking a step toward her.

“No! Of course not. You realize you’re practically calling me a prostitute , don’t you?” she almost shouted, anger and disbelief and confusion twining and beginning to roar in her blood. “Is that what you think? That Ian sends me out to sleep with his business associates? His family members ?”

His features darkened. “Of course I don’t think you’re a prostitute. What I do think is that you’re a woman who would do just about anything for her job. For her boss. Everyone in the family is always going on about how loyal you are to him.”

Her mouth fell open in shock. Oh my God . She’d been so idiotic. How could she have ever thought this rough, savage jerk was attractive? He didn’t even vaguely resemble the men she usually favored, but her libido just had to be appeased, didn’t it? This was the stupidest mistake she’d ever made.

She drew herself up to her full height, refusing to be cowed by the fact that she was standing half-dressed in front of such a complete, astronomical son of a bitch. He’d just burned her to her very core, and then had the nerve to call her a whore and Ian’s bowing minion in one fell swoop. She’d let him burn her.

“Get the hell out of my house,” she said quietly.

A strange expression broke over his face, as if her response had been disappointing, but also precisely what he’d expected of her.