Special Deliveries: Heir To His Legacy: Heir to a Desert Legacy. Elizabeth Lane
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it can actually clog your pores and create—”
“I’m not interested in the side effects of stress,” he said, his tone heavy, rough.
“Well… I’m just… explaining.”
“Why are you running from me?” he asked again, dipping his face lower, his expression fierce. “It’s because you know, isn’t it? You feel it?”
“Feel what?” she asked.
“This… need between us. How everything in me is demanding that I reach out and pull you hard against me. And how everything in you is begging me to.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“I think you do.” He lowered his hand and traced her collarbone with his fingertip, sliding it slowly up the side of her neck, along her jawbone.
She shook her head, pulling away from him, from his touch. “No,” she lied, “I don’t.”
She didn’t understand what was happening with her body, why it was betraying her like this. She’d never felt this kind of wild, overpowering attraction for anyone in her life. But if she was going to, it would have been for a nice scientist who had a large collection of dry erase pens and looked good in a lab coat.
It would not be for this rough, uncivilized man who believed he could move people around at his whim. This man who sought to control everything and everyone around him.
Unfortunately, her body hadn’t asked her opinion on who she should find attractive. Because that was most definitely what this was. Scientific, irrefutable evidence of arousal. Increased heart rate, swollen lips, tightening nipples, oh… dear… and yes, wetness between her thighs.
But if there was one thing she knew about attraction it was that it was physical, and she was not a physical creature. Her body was nothing more than a slave to its base, biological urges, but she was a woman who used her mind. A woman who reasoned and made choices based on things that had nothing to do with being in close proximity to a man with high testosterone.
“We may not have to play like this is a love match, but we will show my country that the marriage is real enough and that means you can’t get up and run away during dinner parties.”
“I wasn’t running away,” she bit out.
He slid his thumb over the exposed skin on her arm. “I don’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you choose to believe or not. I was just ready to go back to my room. And study. Molecules.”
“Then stay,” he said, a challenge laced in his words. “Stay and talk to me.”
The way he said “talk,” didn’t sound as if he wanted to talk at all. She had no experience with situations like this. Had never had the inclination to cultivate any. Now she sort of wished she had some, wished there was some way she could play cool and sophisticated.
But there was simply no way. Not only did she lack experience, but him being so dominant and so very, very male was off-putting to her. Which is what made it all so strange. Because the very things about him that scared her the most were also the things that she seemed to find most attractive.
More compelling evidence as to why her body should not call the shots.
“Fine,” she said. “But I might have an easier time thinking of what to say if you let go of my arm instead of manhandling me like Ardipithecus ramidus.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at her own joke.
“What?”
“Ardipithecus… oh, come on. It’s funny. It’s one of the evolutionary stages of man. No? Nothing?”
“I assume you’re calling me a Neanderthal.”
“Well, sure if you want to oversimplify it.”
He released his hold on her. “You’re implying that I’m uncivilized, and make no mistake, Chloe, it’s very true. I don’t pretend to be otherwise.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“No matter how we feel about each other you and I will have to learn to get along in public, at the very least. We can hardly go to public functions only to end up sniping at each other.”
“True, yeah, you have a point there.”
“And you should refrain from implying that any important heads of State are more closely related to monkeys than men.”
“Says the man who told a diplomat to go to hell.” He treated her to a hard look. “Fine. I promise to reserve those insults for you, and even then, only in private.”
It was strange, because just a few moments ago she’d been thinking about how off-putting she found his masculinity, and yet, now, she was talking to him as though nothing had happened. She’d assumed his being so masculine had bothered her because the strength of men, especially men with power, was something she’d learned to fear.
But no matter how many times she struck out at Sayid verbally, and even the time she’d done so physically, he’d never made a move to hurt her in any way.
She was confident now that he wouldn’t. So what was it that frightened her? Because she was frightened, no question about that.
“Careful, when you say things like that, it sounds a bit like an invitation that I don’t think you’re making,” he said.
And then she realized just what scared her so much. The attraction and the fear were one. For the first time in her life, she was curious about sex in a way that went beyond the intellectual.
She didn’t like it. Not one bit, particularly given the situation and the man who was piquing the curiosity. Detachment was important. It was her protection.
“You’re right about that. I’m not making an invitation,” she bit out, backing away from him. More because of herself than him. Because for a moment part of her had considered telling him that she was issuing an invitation. And then she wanted to sit back and see what he would make of that, because she didn’t know what move she would make after that. She didn’t know enough about the whole sex thing to make the next move.
Not like she didn’t know how sex worked, just that she had no idea how one went about instigating it, particularly with a man like Sayid who had very clearly been there and done that.
It didn’t bear thinking about at all, because she was not going to go near him. Not in that way. Not ever.
“And I would decline if you were.”
The statement hit her right in the feminine ego. Not that she should be surprised by it. Men like Sayid hardly went for slightly chubby gingers who preferred Bunsen burners to boys and who had never even engaged in a good make out session.
“Well… moot. Because I already said I’m not inviting. Nope.”
“Good,” he snapped. Clipped. Hard.
Her cheeks heated, mortification washing over her, and it just served to make her even more angry. She shouldn’t care that he didn’t want to have sex with her, she didn’t want to have sex with him! Well, she wouldn’t have sex with him.
Maybe she sort of wanted to kiss him. At least, she wondered what it would be like to press her mouth to those hard, sculpted lips. To run her fingertip along the line of his jaw.
But that was all. Just idle wondering about a little kiss. Which was completely understandable. And normal. Lots of women probably thought about kissing him. And that, again, came back to biology because it certainly wasn’t his sparkling personality.
“Fine. Well, I’m leaving now. Not running, mind you. Especially since we established that you aren’t after my body.”
“Have a good evening,” he said, lips tight.
“Sure,”