Part 2 (1/2)
”Making a phone call.”
”Couldn't it wait? We're having a fight!”
”A fight about what?” He glanced at her over his shoulder. ”You made me an offer. I turned you down.”
”You fondled me!”
”Yeah, I did, didn't I?” His irreverent gaze came to rest on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
”Stop that! You perverted-”
He waved her silent. ”Buenos dias, Rico! Como esta usted?” he shouted as whoever he'd been calling came on the line.
Randy felt as if she'd had a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. She could hardly believe the arrogance. If she'd had any doubts about Geoff Dias's go-to-h.e.l.l att.i.tude, the back of his sweats.h.i.+rt answered them when he turned full around. Printed in neat block letters were the words UP YOURS, AMIGO. Apparently, he'd read the book on guerrilla management tactics too.
She was too angry even to consider the intelligent solution, which would have been to cut her losses and leave. Her compet.i.tive instincts had been triggered yesterday by the first glint of his green eyes. By now they were armed and ready. She had no intention of giving up her quest to hire him, but her anger at the moment had more to do with salving wounded pride than with failed business negotiations. Outrage didn't seem to have the slightest affect on him, and as much as she might have wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h the phone out of his hand and carry out the instructions on his sweats.h.i.+rt, she couldn't let herself. Cool heads prevailed, she reminded herself. She had to collect her wits and be as cool as he was. Cooler.
Her chiropractor had given her some breathing techniques for eliminating tension, but she needed something faster, something foolproof.
”E ... N ... O,” she murmured, mentally reciting each letter as she said it out loud. ”O ... W ... T.” Counting to ten might work for others, but like a high-performance race car, Randy's temper required more sophisticated braking power. Years ago she'd started spelling the numbers backward as she counted. It required sufficient concentration that she often forgot what she was angry about before she got to ten.
She was on ytnewt-enin as Geoff hung up the phone.
”I'd like a moment of your time,” she said politely.
”Try me tomorrow.” He punched out another number.
”Perhaps you didn't hear me.” But her protest fell on deaf ears. He was already immersed in another conversation.
”Y-T-R-I-H-T.” Staring at his back, Randy p.r.o.nounced each letter of the number slowly and through clenched teeth. Cool heads be d.a.m.ned, she thought, glancing up at the posters on his wall. If any of those guns had been real, Geoff Dias would have been a dead mercenary.
By the time he hung up, she'd abandoned counting techniques and regressed to thinking murderous thoughts. Only her voice was cool as she spoke. ”What do I have to do to get your attention, Mr. Dias?”
”Are you still here?” he said, glancing her way.
”Am I still-” The last word jammed in her throat. Something about his profile stopped her. From that angle he looked suddenly, frighteningly familiar. Was it his jawline? The ridge in his broken nose?
”You never answered me,” she said suddenly, urgently. ”Have we met before?”
He merely smiled, that same infuriatingly sensual flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt that implied everything and revealed nothing.
As he turned back to the phone. Randy saw red. ”Are you going to answer me, dammit?” Without giving a thought to the consequences, she walked over, s.n.a.t.c.hed the phone receiver out of his hand, and slammed it into the cradle. ”I'm talking to you, Mr. Dias. And I want an answer!”
His emerald eyes caught fire as he turned to her. Gripping her by the arms, he whipped her around and backed her up against the wall in one swift, heart-stopping movement. Before she could catch her breath, he had her arms raised above her head and pinned to the wall.
”Are you crazy?” she gasped, straining against him.
”Certifiable,” he said. ”But at least I'm not rude.”
”Rude?”
”You didn't say please.”
He kissed her before she could say please or anything else, kissed her with such shocking force and potency that all the air in her body seemed to get trapped in her lungs. She couldn't breathe for several seconds, and then she forgot all about needing to breathe. The heat of his mouth enveloped her, melting her unwilling lips, stroking and shaping them to his, mastering her responses. She knew that if he had his way, he would ultimately master the rest of her as well.
He was a big man, but it wasn't just his size that made her feel helpless. The instant his mouth touched hers, she was lost in the kiss. It was hot and heavy and punis.h.i.+ng, an act of conquering, as if he was determined to prove something, to force her to acknowledge him. Why? she asked herself frantically. Who was he?
She tried to move, but he pressed her to the wall with his hips, forcing a soft moan out of her. He wanted something more than a stolen kiss, Randy realized with shocking clarity. Even more than the physical act of s.e.x. He was calling for unconditional surrender. That awareness swirled through her senses as feverishly as hot steam.
Again she tried to move, and again he reacted swiftly, bringing her arms down, anchoring them alongside her head. He pressed his forearms to hers and held her fast, easily subduing her efforts to escape.
”Temper, temper,” he said, his voice husky with pa.s.sion. He grazed her mouth lightly with his, but instead of kissing her, he nipped the flesh of her lower lip.
Randy recoiled at the stinging pleasure. Why was he doing this to her? And why was she responding? She wanted to resist. She was trying to resist, d.a.m.n him! And yet everything he did sent urgent thrills spiraling through her. The feel of his body flush up against hers melted her defenses, making her feel weak and heavy, weighing her down with sensations. The heat of his thighs seemed to flow into hers, and the power of his arms made her dizzy.
”Open your mouth,” he murmured.
No, she thought. Never! She meant to tell him that, but as she parted her lips, he stole into the warmth of her, sweeping deeply into the vault of her mouth with his tongue. Randy's legs nearly buckled with the pleasure as he began to stroke into her rhythmically, his tongue repeatedly penetrating the soft barrier of her lips. If he hadn't been holding her, she would have sagged to the ground.
It was all so shockingly exciting.
It was all so terribly familiar!
”How does it feel, Randy?” he asked, whispering against her mouth, then breaking the kiss to search her face. ”After all these years?”
She didn't answer him. She couldn't, not with her senses spinning wildly. He held her gaze with his eyes and pinned her to the wall with his lower body. He was aroused, hard enough to commit sin on a Sunday, and he wanted her to know it.
”Remember, baby?” he said softly, grinding his hips into hers.
Randy swallowed an anguished sound and slumped against the wall. Her stomach clutched as he pressed himself into its quivering softness. The motion of his hips was slow and grindingly sensual, as if he meant her to feel every twitch and throb of that one part of him. Lord, she did! He felt huge against her, and beautifully hard. He was forcing her to think about the act of lovemaking, about how all that rigid male flesh would feel inside her!
Remember, baby? Was that what he'd said? She couldn't remember anything but the steel heat and power of the man's body. She couldn't remember anything but the crazy pleasure of hard, deep lovemaking. The rocking of his hips had touched into some primitive female response and left her in a state of whimpering helplessness.
Remember, baby? Surrender, baby ...
He picked her up and carried her to the desk, sweeping the papers and debris off it as he laid her down. He was going to make love to her right there on the desk, and Randy wasn't sure she had the power to stop him. Maybe she didn't want to stop him!
She waited for him to join her, but instead he stood beside the desk, his golden hair swirling forward, falling across his face as he looked down at her. He combed the hair back with his hand, revealing the unbridled sensuality in his features, the fever-brightness of his eyes.
He looked hot, hungry, ready to devour any woman who stepped in his path. The cords of his neck stood out, and the muscles of his biceps were thick with tension. He was too much man for her, she realized. Far too much.
A sound shook on her breath, sweet, sharp.
He reached down and slipped his hand inside the neckline of her dress, daring her to stop him as he caressed her breast. She couldn't stop him. She couldn't! Everything he did sent paralyzing currents of excitement through her. Her body reacted to the stimulation as if it were addicted, quivering with antic.i.p.ation, trembling for more.
His green eyes bored into hers, forcing her to find the answer she'd been searching for. ”Do you remember me now?” he asked, breathing hard. ”Dupont Street, around midnight. The guy on the motorcycle.”