Defying Desire. A.C. Arthur
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one of the back rooms of Camille’s house. She’d made her rounds speaking to reporters and buyers making sure they all knew that she was wearing a CK Davis exclusive, taken pictures, smiled non-stop and modeled back and forth through the large living and dining rooms.
Her head pounded and her feet hurt. She was exhausted and she was afraid. About a half hour ago she’d stopped looking at the clock. She knew the time was ticking down. That’s why she’d searched out a place to be alone. If she were going to have a breakdown she didn’t need any of the press seeing it. Hell, she didn’t need any of the Donovans seeing it.
So for the past fifteen minutes she’d been sitting here in the dark, trying to get her brain out of its champagne-induced haze so she could drive herself back to her apartment. There she could fall flat on her face and let the grief claim her the way it begged to.
She was almost ready to get up when a stream of light invaded her sacred darkness. With an inhale of an intoxicatingly masculine cologne she knew her night had just taken another turn for the worse.
“Hiding out?” Trent asked as he closed the door and switched on a lamp.
Tia pressed her palms into her eyes, praying that when she moved them the pinpricks against her lids would cease. “I’m trying to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m looking for some company,” he said slowly. “If you don’t mind.”
Furious at his audacity Tia pulled her hands away from her face and gasped when she realized he was standing directly over her. “Yes. I mind. I’m sure you can find someone to keep you company out there. Lord knows there are plenty of women dying to catch your attention.”
“Jealous?” he asked in that cool yet firm voice of his.
“Hell, no! If they want to make fools of themselves for you, they are more than welcome.”
Even though she expected him to, Trent didn’t respond. He only watched her as if he were seeing something nobody else did. She turned away from him, only to have him grab her chin and turn her back to face him.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be if you’d leave.”
“You look sick.”
“I am. Sick and tired of being harassed by you.”
“You’re drunk,” he stated flatly.
“I am not.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
And before she could say another word he was scooping her up off the chair. His strong arms cradled her against his chest.
Why did it have to feel so good? In the midst of all that was bad in her life, why did the touch of this man feel so damn good?
“I don’t need you,” she said in a small voice trying to hold her head up and not scream against the building pain.
He stopped walking at her words, peering down at her with an indescribable expression. Oh no, it was describable all right. It was a mixture of hunger and danger—a deadly mix, she knew, where Trent Donovan was concerned.
She opened her mouth to tell him to put her down, that she would get Adam or someone else to take her home. But the words died in her throat as his lips touched hers. Heat speared through her body at the contact.
This was no sweet just-get-to-know-you kiss. It was fierce, hot, demanding, stealing. Taking from her all that she’d had pent up for days, no months, or more like years.
She hated kissing. It was too intimate, touching parts of her she’d rather keep reserved. But again, this was no normal kiss. It was a fierce, blistering request—no, demand. Its lustful intent was clear and swept through her senses in deep, flowing waves.
For months, since the night she’d first met him, Tia had dreamed of this, imagining how good it would feel and knowing how easy it would be to fall for this man. And as difficult as it had been, she’d kept her resolve, had refused to call him, to accept the attraction that had sizzled between them since that first touch of hands on the runway.
Now she was powerless, not just because of the amount of champagne she’d ingested, but because as long as his hands were on her, his lips, his tongue, she had no choice but to acquiesce.
His tongue pressed past her teeth searching for hers and claiming it with an arrogant swipe. Hungry and what felt like enraged, he took her mouth, deepening the kiss until all Tia could taste or even think was Trent Donovan.
Chapter 4
Trent turned his black Hummer H3 Alpha onto Redwood Street heading toward the apartment complex Tia had told him she lived in. She was in the passenger seat that he’d reclined for her just before strapping her in. Her eyes were closed and every now and then she would moan, causing him concern over whether she was in pain or whether the champagne was taking its toll and she was about to vomit. The latter wasn’t going to be a good thing, especially not in his new truck.
Still he couldn’t help again admiring her beauty. It wasn’t such a shock to him since her profession was dependent on her looks. But there was something simple and untouched about her smooth skin, high cheekbones and long eyelashes. As she lay with her eyes closed, not speaking, not fighting with him, he was touched by a rarely-seen innocence.
Pulling into the complex Trent frowned. The Sahara West Apartments located just within the Vegas city limits was not a bad complex. Actually, it was a rather nice one, but Tia was making enough money that she clearly could have done better. He parked and went around to the passenger side, opening the door for her.
She hadn’t moved so he undid her seat belt and was bending over to lift her once more into his arms when she stirred.
“You don’t have to keep carrying me. I can walk,” she said slowly.
She was attempting to open her eyes, which didn’t look like an easy feat. Yet her speech wasn’t slurred. Trent was beginning to think that something else was bothering her, that this wasn’t just a result of too much champagne.
“I like the feel of you in my arms,” he said as he lifted her out of the truck. The words came out sincerely, intentionally. Trent was a man who knew what he wanted and didn’t hesitate going for it. His actions all had a purpose that he carefully worked out in his mind ahead of time.
So when she cuddled against him while he used his hip to close the door he knew the words had done what they were supposed to.
At the door of her apartment he put her down, slowly propping her against the wall. His hands lingered on her hips just to make sure she was steady. And she was, but still he didn’t move his hands. He liked touching her. She smelled good, too, like brown sugar and honey.
Her eyes opened easily as she looked up at him. Trent brushed his lips lightly over hers. She kept her eyes on him as if she wanted him to know that she was fully aware of what he was doing.
Struck by a swift slice of guilt at taking advantage of a woman when she wasn’t completely herself, Trent stepped away. “Where’s your key?”
Tia didn’t speak but reached into her small purse and retrieved the key. She tried to step around him to get to the door but he lifted the key from her hand slipping it into the door and pushing it open. Stepping to the side he let her enter first, then followed and closed the door behind them.
She switched on a lamp that shed only a small amount of light. The living room area was actually small but appeared spacious since she had only a couch, a glass coffee table and a big-screen television on the wall opposite the patio door. In a corner to the left was what Trent assumed was her dining room. There was a counter-height table and two chairs. To say that her furnishings were sparse was an understatement.
“Thank you for seeing me home,” she said in a quiet voice.
She’d crossed the room