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CHAPTER THREE
ARISTOPHANESDIDN’TKNOWwhat was happening to him. He’d expected to come into her flat, dismiss the doctor, then perhaps order her to bed—rest was important—while he stayed up all night working. However, it was only once he’d arrived that he realised he hadn’t brought anything to do his work on, and so he was looking at an entire evening of wasted time. An abhorrence that had made his already foul temper even fouler.
Dismissing the doctor hadn’t been an issue, but then he’d heard the bathroom door open, so he’d gone into her tiny hallway only to find yet another aggravation: her standing there staring at him, wrapped up in the most ridiculous dressing gown he’d ever seen.
It was pink and fluffy, and she had a towel around her head, and she should not have looked so completely and utterly adorable. In addition, everything male in him knew she was naked beneath that dressing gown, and wanted to see if her skin was as pink as the robe and what would happen if he pulled at her towel and her hair tumbled down her back.
He wanted to know what would happen if he kissed her.
An absolutely unacceptable situation.
He’d been telling himself on the way over to her flat that it was only because he was worried about her, that was why he’d been drawn back to her. Nothing to do with the softness of her mouth, or the darkness of her eyes. Nothing to do with her delectable curves or the silkiness of her hair.
Physical attraction was nothing. It happened all the time. It wasn’t special or singular.
It was the attraction of the mind that fascinated him, that drew him. He’d much rather have an interesting woman over a beautiful one any day of the week.
Yet right now, with her backed against the wall, looking up at him with darkened eyes, he didn’t care about her mind. What he wanted was to rip aside all that fluffy pink and find the beautiful body beneath it. Touch it. Kiss it. Taste it.
Bury himself inside it.
It was the stupidest thing he’d ever felt and he was appalled by the baseness of his own desires. By how he seemed to have no control over them whatsoever.
He’d never, for example, become so angry with himself that he’d crowded a woman up against a door, or flung her own beauty back in her face. He’d never let himself care enough to even think about doing that.
Yet here he was, doing all of the above.
She should have been scared, since he was clearly behaving like a lunatic, yet instead she’d reached up and touched his face, her fingers soft against his cheek.
What are you waiting for?she’d said, the words hitting something deep inside him.
As if he’d been waiting indeed and now here she was, ready for him.
A preschool teacher... Not inherently bad, yet not on a par with Angelina, a professor at Harvard. Why had he left her for this woman? Why was his body insisting that Nell was what he wanted, when his head was positive it was Angelina?
‘I don’t know you,’ he ground out, wanting her to understand. ‘I don’t do this with women I don’t know.’
There was something soft in her eyes, something hot that sent fire all the way to his groin. She stroked his cheekbone lightly, as if he were hers to touch however and whenever she wished, and that didn’t make any sense either. He didn’t like people touching him when he wasn’t in bed with them. He found it distracting.
Yet her touch... He wanted it. Hewantedit.
‘I don’t do this with men I don’t know,’ she said in her husky voice. ‘So, I suppose that makes us even.’
He should shove himself away, put some space between them. She’d hurt herself, for God’s sake. What was he doing holding her against the door like this?
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. His body wanted him to stay right here, where he could smell the soap and shampoo she’d used, something sweet and simple that made him ache for reasons he couldn’t name. And she was so warm. He wanted to pull the tie of that ridiculous dressing gown, discover if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
‘Then why?’ It was rapidly becoming difficult to think, whichneverhappened to him, and he hated the feeling. Yet he seemed to be powerless against it. ‘Why do you want me?’ It was obvious to him why she’d want him—he was, after all, who he was. Yet he wanted to hear her say it. ‘Why do you wantthis?’
Her silky red lashes lowered, fanning against her pink cheek. ‘I... You’re...’ She paused, as if searching for the words, then her lashes lifted once more, her eyes wide and dark. ‘When I was out, I dreamed of you, and when I woke up, you were holding my hand. And you’re...beautiful. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.’
He wanted to growl with satisfaction, an unbearably primitive response. Women wanted him, it was true. The lovers his assistants scheduled for him always, without exception, wanted him. He took it as read most of the time.
But the way Nell said it made him fierce and triumphant and feral.
It made him want to ravage her right here against the door.
He eased closer, so the pink fluffy edge of her dressing gown was brushing against his shirt. ‘To be clear, I wanted sex tonight,’ he said. ‘So is that what you’re offering?’