Wild Revenge: The Dangerous Jacob Wilde / The Ruthless Caleb Wilde / The Merciless Travis Wilde. Sandra Marton
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Taste her.
Kiss her breasts, suck on her nipples …
“Put me down.”
Her voice was toneless. Even a man still trying to figure out if he’d lost his sanity could tell that wasn’t a good sign.
“Listen,” he said, “about this—”
“Did you hear me? Put me down.”
He nodded, lowered her carefully to her feet and searched his head for something intelligent to say. Nothing happened, so he went for a time-honored classic.
“You okay?”
She didn’t answer. Yeah, well, why would she? Surely, what he’d said was among the stupidest lines a man could utter.
What was she thinking? He couldn’t tell, couldn’t see her face. Her hair was a wild tangle, obscuring her features.
“Hey,” he said softly. He scrunched down, just enough so they were at eye level, and put a hand under her chin. “Addy?”
Her head came up. “My name,” she said, “is Addison.”
No, Jake thought, that was definitely not a good sign, either.
“Look, I’m just trying to ask if you’re—”
“I know what you’re trying to ask. I’m on the pill.”
He felt a sense of relief, but that hadn’t really been what he was asking. He meant, had he hurt her? Disappointed her? Was she already filled with regret or, like him, did she want more?
Most of all, did she understand this any better than he did?
“Good,” he said, nodding his head like one of those silly dolls you saw in the windows of cars. “Good. But what I meant was, you know—”
Hell. He was stumbling around like a boy after his first conquest. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“I know this was a little fast—”
“Such a smooth talker, Captain.” She jerked away from his hand. “Besides, it’s a little late to worry about that, isn’t it?”
Jake’s mouth thinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His tone was suddenly cold. Addison couldn’t blame him. He’d asked a damned good question.
What had just happened—down-and-dirty sex with a man she had just met, a man who’d accused her of trying to seduce him into bed or maybe into accepting a job—had involved the both of them.
There was no way she could blame it on Jake Wilde alone, much as she wanted to.
She’d been part of it.
Her throat constricted.
More than part.
She’d been an eager participant.
The proof was in each wild, exciting memory.
The taste of him, still on her lips.
The scent of him, still in each breath she took.
The echo of her own voice, feverishly repeating his name, asking him, begging him to—to—
Her belly knotted.
She thought of how they must look, he standing with his back to a truck in the middle of nowhere, she standing before him, what they’d just done stamped all over her.
His tie was askew.
More to the point, she didn’t have her panties on.
She wanted to weep with humiliation. That she, of all people, would do such a thing. She’d grown up with a mother whose attitude toward men had devolved to something about as complicated as her attitude toward potato chips.
Why have just one if more are available?
As for her … she wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t some sad little innocent. She’d had sex before.
A few times …
Very few.
The truth was, she was on the pill to regulate her menstrual cycle, not for anything more exciting.
For one crazy second, she thought of telling him that.
And almost laughed.
What would she say? I’m not the kind of girl who has sex up against a truck with a man I’ve known for five minutes….
But she was. And there was no explanation for it that would make her feel better.
“Look,” he said, his tone conciliatory, “I know you’re upset….”
She took one quick look at his face, all hard angles and planes in the moonlight, and then she turned away.
The flashlight lay at their feet, still lit, the beam illuminating—she shuddered—illuminating what remained of her panties and one shoe.
What had become of the other?
As if it mattered.
She bent. So did he. His hand closed on hers as she reached for the flashlight. She pulled her hand free, picked up the light and the scrap of silk that was proof of her shame.
“Dammit,” he growled, “talk to me!”
She looked at him. The muscle in his jaw was flickering. What did he expect her to say? Thank you for the good time?
“Listen, lady, I’m not going to let you pretend this didn’t happen.”
“You’re not going to let me pretend this didn’t happen?” Addison tossed her tangled curls back from her eyes. “Here’s a news flash, Captain. What I do or don’t do isn’t up to you!”
He caught her by the wrist again; she gasped as he pulled her closer. “We’re a little past the ‘Captain’ routine. And, yeah, you’re damned right, what you do is none of my business.”
“I’m glad we agree,” she said coldly.
The pressure on her wrist increased; he tugged her the last few inches toward him until there was virtually no space separating them at all.
“But there’s no way I’m going to let you look at me as if I forced you to do this. We made love,” he said bluntly. “Why can’t you accept that?”
“We had sex,” she snapped. “And if you don’t know the difference, I feel sorry for you.”
The quick change in his expression terrified her. She stared up at him. Even in her stilettos, she’d had to look up to see his face.
Now, she had to tilt her head back.
It made her feel powerless.
“Do not,” he said, very softly, “do not ever make the mistake of feeling sorry for me.”
His hand fell from hers. He turned on his heel, swung the Tundra’s door open and climbed behind the wheel.
“And you’re right, Ms. McDowell. We had sex. Nothing to write home about, either.”
Addison forced a little smile. “At least we agree on something.”
It was the worst kind of lie and it left the taste of ashes in her mouth, but the look he shot her told her it was a small victory.
God knew, she needed it.
Head up, shoulders back, she marched away from him toward her car, still shoeless. No way was she going to give him the pleasure of watching her search for that miserable missing shoe.
She waited for the sound of the truck starting up.
Nothing happened.
Her spine tingled.