He dug into the pocket of his trousers and found what he was looking for. He held out his hand, turned it palm up, and opened his fist, her red earrings and leather strapped pendant in his palm.
“My jewellery!” she gasped, her face showing a flash of appealing delight and she took two quick steps forward.
He closed his hand again and crossed his arms on his chest.
The dog settled into a lying position with a very loud groan.
She stopped when he closed his fist and her eyes flew to his. The delight was gone and confusion flooded in.
“Please give them to me,” she requested quietly.
He ignored her tone and told her, “I have a proposition for you.”
“Please give me my jewellery, Mr. Morgan. I forgot it in my extreme desire to exit your house and it means something to me.” She also ignored his comment and he stayed silent so she continued, her voice rising again, in anger or panic, he didn’t know her well enough to decipher. “Please give it to me. My mother gave me that pendant.”
“If you want it, you have to hear me out.”
Her response was surprising. He thought a consummate professional like herself would be willing to negotiate. But, perhaps, unsurprising if she was not the little actress most women of his acquaintance seemed to be.
She rushed to him and when she did so, the dog lumbered to his feet and started barking.
When she arrived a foot in front of him, she grabbed his wrist and tried to wrest his clenched fist open. His other hand caught one of her wrists, easily twisting it behind her back and he crushed her body against his.
He tried to ignore his body’s instantaneous reaction to her soft curves against his hard frame but he was not altogether successful. He calmly deposited the jewellery back into his pocket and caught her other hand, which was now pressing against his chest to push him away, and twisted that gently behind her too.
She struggled for a bit and then suddenly realising his superior strength, froze, her face lifting to his.
“You’re unbelievable. I see your personality has changed again,” she accused in a frosty voice that seemed entirely foreign on her lips.
He ignored her and remarked, “That’s better.”
“Let me go.”
He shook his head.
“Let me go!” she demanded.
He shook her gently yet roughly and her fierce eyes turned frightened.
He found he both enjoyed that reaction and hated it with every fibre of his being.
It was a very strange sensation.
Her body still frozen, he finally had her rapt attention. It was time to get down to business.
“I want to f**k you,” he told her calmly and bluntly and waited for her reaction.
“Oh my goddess,” she breathed, her eyes widened and her mouth ended the statement parted in surprise.
With that strange remark, he could smell her breath, which was minty, and her scent, which was now gardenias and vanilla, and both took considerable toll on his fast flagging control.
He realised he wanted her, wanted her now, wanted to rip her clothes off, toss her delicious body on the dining room table and bury himself inside her. He wanted it so badly it took a supreme effort of will not to give in to the impulse and the strength of this hunger made Colin deeply surprised. He’d never felt such a lack of control, such a feral need, in his life.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “You feel good, you smell good, you probably even taste good.”
The panic flared in her eyes but her voice was quiet when she demanded, “Let me go.”
“I’ll pay you.”