He pushed away from the wall and started toward me. “I don’t wanna have a conversation. I wanna f**k.”
My body prepared to flee but my mind stopped it and I held my ground. “I’m beginning to hate it when you say it like that,” I said sharply.
I didn’t really hate it, not before. It was kind of a turn on. But I did hate it now especially the way he just said it which was not nice.
He stopped in front of me and just at the edge of my space. The whole time he approached me, his eyes were on mine.
“I work when I’m in town. If I need to sleep, I sleep on the couch in the down room. If I need to shower, I use the shower there. I keep clothes in my locker. A lot of the time I’m out hunting and not in town at all. I come up here when I have time off which isn’t very often,” he answered my question.
“Why do you work so much?” I asked but wished I hadn’t. Again I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to know.
“It’s what I do,” he replied.
“But why?”
He stared at me a second, leaned forward and took my hand. “Question time is over.”
Oh crap.
Then he turned and pulled me across the room and down the hall.
It was undignified to struggle especially in high heels and a little black dress. So I didn’t but my belly flutter, coupled with the stomach twist, made me feel a little queasy.
He pulled me into a room off the left of the hall, his bedroom.
The lamp was on by the bed. It was an old iron bed, painted black, a double. The mattresses, though, looked firm and new. There was a down comforter on it covered in a dark brown twill and another Native American blanket thrown over the comforter, light brown pillow cases over the pillows. There was a dresser, two nightstands (both with lamps and more books on them) and an old wardrobe (because there was no closet). On the outside wall was another stone-hearth fireplace nearly as big as the living room. The only thing on the walls was a hide stretched across and stitched tight to a bent piece of wood, an image of an eagle shaved into the fur.
Vance stopped by the bed. He’d already taken off his jacket earlier and now he started to unbutton his shirt.
“Crowe –” I started.
“Take off your dress,” he interrupted me, his voice sharp.
I blinked at him, shocked at his tone.
Then I rallied. “Can we please talk, just for a few minutes?”
I wasn’t beginning to get freaked. I was full-on freaked.
It didn’t take an experienced relationship expert to realize he was pissed off and I didn’t understand. If he was pissed off, why did he want me there at all? It was like he wanted to make this hard on me and I didn’t like that, not about him.
Furthermore, why was I there? I’d never agreed to it. I hadn’t even agreed to going to the party with him.
Before I could answer my questions, his hands came away from the last button and he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and it fell to the floor. Then he captured me by the hips, pulled me closer and with a swish he had my dress clutched in his fingers and up over my head. Then it was gone.
I was wearing a pair of red satin panties with a little black bow under my navel (one of my new pairs) and no bra.
For a second shock hit me and I stood frozen. Then I covered my br**sts with an arm and bent to retrieve my dress.
I’d decided that it was time to f**k this. My head-crackin’ mamma jamma was coming out.
There were a lot of things I didn’t need that had come at me in the last few days but Vance being a complete ass**le was the biggest one of them all.
Vance caught me as I bent over and pulled me back up.
“Take your hands off me, Crowe. I’m going home,” I snapped when I was straight and looking at him. His arms were wrapping around me and pulling me to him.
I tried to push back, they went tight with a jerk and my body slammed into his.