Whitney gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and Andrew silenced her with a glare. Both her tattoos—the name Andrew, dark and almost menacing on her milky skin—were perfectly visible with her raised hands, and so he pulled the man’s arm even tighter at his back.
“Is your name Andrew?” he demanded.
“N-no.”
“Then why are you touching her?”
The man was so stunned, he didn’t answer. Andrew tightened his hold.
“This woman is a wife to me. This woman is my life. So do me a favor and walk out of here. Don’t touch her, don’t talk to her, don’t even look at her.”
He abruptly released him and watched the man stumble away, aware of Whitney’s gaze on his profile, her eyes wide in disbelief. He glanced sharply around, his look scathing, his body primed for fighting. “Is revenge all that it’s meant to be? Are you satisfied that I wanted to hurt him?”
Her eyes watered, and he cursed and grabbed her by the elbow, leading her forcibly down the steps and around the hotel.
In the car, she sat across from him, trembling, and for long minutes, neither of them spoke.
Andrew’s ears echoed with the sound of his heartbeat, a sick sense of jealousy clawing at his gut. Whitney’s eyes had for the past few minutes been fixed on his hands, lying flat on the seat at his sides. He knew she wanted them on her. He knew she wanted his mouth. His cock. She’d been taunting him all night, inciting his jealousy, and now Andrew was going to give it to her as hard as she deserved. As hard as she could take it.
“I’m patient, Whitney. But don’t ever confuse me for a fool.”
She met his gaze, her breasts rising and falling fast, her eyes bright with lust and challenge.
He could kiss her right now until their mouths bled. He could drag her into a corner and pound her until they were both in little pieces. He’d never felt so out of control before, so unstable. He’d always been a calm, rational person. But then he’d met her. He’d lost his heart to her. His lost his life for her. And now he would not, could not, lose her.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked her in a low, hard voice.
Her chin came up in challenge. “Tons. Did you?”
“My fun is about to start. Come here.”
She stiffened, and her eyes flared in an obvious internal struggle. Eventually, she came. She sat tightly on his lap, her small frame tense.
He cupped her breast and felt the tremor that went through her. “Who does this belong to?” He softened his voice as he brushed her hair back behind her shoulders with one hand, and fondled the swell of one heaving breast with the other.
She maintained a stubborn silence, but her breathing changed at his touch, becoming more ragged. He weighed her flesh in his hand, cupping her over her dress, gently squeezing her.
“What was your aim? To enrage me? To taunt me? Make me want to bind you up in my bed and never let you leave it?”
Her breath caught at that, and she pressed her breast deeper into his hand with a low, throaty moan.
He gave her the little squeeze she seemed to want, watching her eyes cloud in desire, her glorious eyelashes falling halfway down her eyes. “Mission accomplished, Whitney. I’m enraged. I’m taunted.”
He stole his hand into the front of her dress to find she wore no bra underneath it. Her flesh filled his palm, and instantly, her nipple beaded. She was aroused. She’d liked to tease him. Torment him. “I’m going to ask you once again. Who does this belong to? Who does this breast, this lovely nipple, respond to?”
“Y-You.”
“That’s right,” he softly cooed, then he slid his hand to cup her other breast, the tip hard and erect for his touch already. His voice was getting thicker as a rush of heady blood stormed through his veins, making him struggle for control. “And this, Whitney?” He squeezed her other breast, thumbing the nipple when it protruded in response.
“You.”
“Why do you flaunt them around, when they’re mine?”
Her breathing escalated when he unzipped her dress from behind, then urged it down her shoulders until it gathered at her waist. He surveyed the exposed swells, his body humming with the need to possess them, possess her. He licked one tight pink nipple, tortured it and laved it with the tip of his tongue, until she shuddered on his lap. He lowered his head to the other, and repeated it, drawing her into his mouth, his lips pulling, suctioning, her nipple poking back into his tongue. “Why do you flaunt yourself around, when you’re mine?” he insisted.
She tilted her face back so it fell against his shoulder, giving him access to drift his mouth up her neck, his hands continuing to assault her sensitized breasts. “Because you . . . gave me up. You wanted more oil fields, more money.”
He framed her face in one hand and kept her still as he took her lips in a kiss that had them both moaning from the damp pleasure of it. “You’re worth more to me than that. You. I’d do anything for you. To protect you. To be with you. Anything. Never, ever, forget that, Whitney.”
*****
The shaking wouldn’t stop. Whitney didn’t know why she’d been making Andrew jealous, she only knew she’d felt too emotional today. He was back, and she was acting rebellious, getting his attention, wanting an excuse to lash at him, hit him again, force him to confess why he’d done this to her.
But she’d wanted to weep when he almost broke Conrad’s arm. Why was she putting other people in danger? Did she even expect that Andrew would ever act so . . . proprietary? Maybe the old Andrew might have been more civil, but this one . . .
My God.
He was bad.
And you have it bad for him . . .
Her loins tightened with heat as they entered his apartment, where Whitney quickly disappeared into his closet, slipped into one of his shirts, and went to bed. She knew what was coming. God help her, she wanted it, her skin getting hotter and hotter at the prospect. She wanted him to take and overpower her and show her he loved her with the same intensity as he had before. She wanted him to force her to admit that she belonged to him . . . that he was not an affair . . . that he was the most real thing she had ever had in her life . . . the only man for her . . .
Her heart pounded in anticipation as she slid under the covers, then she spotted his figure by the window. He stood tall and naked, gazing out at the flickering city lights, his muscled back drool-worthy, his buttocks round and muscular, so perfectly formed, her hands throbbed to grip him.