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“Then on your head be it, little carrot.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HE COULDN’T SEE STRAIGHT, couldn’t think straight. He knew that he was acting like a wounded animal backed into a corner, and he knew he wasn’t being fair. He had wanted to make her feel threatened the same way that he did, but she wasn’t backing down. Instead, she was standing there, staring at him with clear green eyes, breathing hard and heavy and making him feel like there was no other option.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything but feel. And what he felt was rage. Rage and a deep, calling need that he had never felt before.

Because there had never been a specific woman. Not for him.

There had been generic desire and sex, the satisfaction of a few hours well spent in a stranger’s arms.

But he had never wanted any one person specifically, and he had sworn to himself that he would leave her alone for a variety of reasons, all of which were valid, all of which were good.

But she had pulled the pin in the grenade that was just barely holding the two of them back.

It was an explosion now, and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do about it. Didn’t know if he wanted to do anything about it. Hell, he knew that he didn’t. What he wanted right now was her.

What he wanted was to prove that he was better at something.

He hated that. Hated that all the shame still lived inside him, that he hadn’t really worked it all out.

Hated that he still felt broken and wrong, and frankly, dumb sometimes.

Especially when compared with her.

Especially when he tried to do things that were beyond him.

But this wasn’t beyond him.

And so he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around her waist, and finally, it wasn’t just to hold her in a pond or lift her up onto a horse. Finally, it was so he could do this.

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, and she was frozen, immobile for a second, before she wrapped her arms around his neck and started to kiss him back.

Her movements were tentative at first, hesitant, but they were sweet. So damned sweet.

And this was the question in her eyes answered, this was the provocation down by the pond fulfilled.

It had been nothing but this. This heightened, angry awareness that was trying to keep them away from this. Trying, and failing. Because he had told himself that he wasn’t going to do this. He had told himself that he wasn’t going to run roughshod over all of her sweet, young beauty.

He had told himself he didn’t even like her, and honest to God, he didn’t. But that wasn’t what made him angry. Her hair was loose, and he took advantage of that, letting his fingers sink into the silky strands as he cradled her face and kissed her harder. Deeper.

She did not pull away. In fact, she gripped his T-shirt, arching her body against his and whimpering as the kiss went on and on. As he parted her lips and let his tongue slide against hers. The little sound she made was more like a whimper, and for some reason, he thought of her socks.

Those little white socks.

He was so hard he thought he was going to die from it, and he couldn’t recall feeling that way before.

He could remember the first time he’d gone out on his own to find a lover, the kids all packed away at sleepovers, and the sense of freedom giving him a little bit of a high.

But this wasn’t about the act of sex, which he was familiar enough with. It was about Quinn.

It was just about Quinn.

He backed her up against the side of the house, pressing his body hard up against hers and moving his palms over her curves. He brought his hand up to cup her breasts, and she gasped, arching hard into him, filling his hand with her.

Then he slid his thumb over her nipple, and she wiggled against him, and he knew that she must be able to feel the obvious evidence of his desire for her pressed right up against her.

She pulled away from him, breathing hard, and he couldn’t figure out if she was trying to angle her body closer to him, or if she was trying to escape, so he released his hold on her.