“That I should quit. That I should give up on you. That’s what you wanted me to do.” He paused, letting the words sink in the thick air between us. “But now I’ve seen your painting and I know better.”

I shook my head, a protest forming on my lips, but the words never made it out.

His mouth crushed mine, slanting over my lips and robbing me of any coherent thought.

My world spun. He was everything then. His lips hot and consuming. His tongue tangled with mine. My arms looped around his neck. He leaned into me, pressing the hard length of himself against my body. His hands were everywhere. My face, my neck. They skimmed down my body to my hips, clutching the black fabric of my dress in his fists and holding me there.

He dragged his mouth down my throat and, honest to God, I saw spots. My head dropped back and lolled against the wall. I felt as limp as a rag doll, my blood molten, my muscles like Jell-O. His hands cupped my bottom, pulling me harder against him, grinding his erection into me and I moaned.

He lifted his head and looked down at me with eyes that were as deep and dark as a bottomless well. “Let’s get out of here.”

I nodded dumbly.

Grabbing my hand, he led me back the way we had come and straight out the front doors. My adrenaline pumped hard and fast through me as we hurried the few blocks to my building. I trembled as the cold bit into me.

“Fuck, you’re cold,” he said, stopping. He shrugged off his jacket and put it around me. I slid my arms through the too big sleeves, immediately enveloped in his heat, in the clean, musky scent of him.

He grabbed my hand again and we continued. I was waiting for the voice. The one in my head that had always stopped me from going too far before. It never came. There was just this blood-pounding need, this hunger—and him, pulling me along like we were racing for our lives.

He caught the outside door as someone was leaving and held it open for me. The twenty-second wait for the elevator was excruciating. The simple contact of his hand, his strong fingers laced with my fingers, the throb of his pulse bleeding into me was enough to keep the blood roaring in my ears and my feet shifting in place.

The fire still burned in his eyes. It scalded me. The elevator doors opened with a swoosh and we stepped inside. The doors had barely shut before he hauled me in his arms again, lifting me off my feet and kissing me until my lips felt numb. I kissed him back. Kissing and gasping, mouth parting for the invasion of his tongue.

I didn’t even register the ding of the elevator telling us we’d reached our floor. He tore his lips from mine and pulled me after him to my room. I fished my key out of the small purse dangling from my wrist and unlocked the door.

I stepped inside my room alongside Shaw and froze, my chest heaving as though I had just run a marathon and wasn’t the most turned on I’d ever been in my life.

“Hey, Em, how’d it go?” Georgia’s greeting served as a slap in the face.

“H-hi, Georgia. Good. It was good.” Did that breathy, throaty voice belong to me? “I-uh, bumped into Shaw.” I motioned to him with a weak wave of my hand. He still held my hand and did not appear inclined to let go. In fact, his jaw was locked and he looked rather incapable of speech.

“Hi,” he managed to get out. Twin brackets edged his tight-looking mouth. “How’s it going?” His voice actually sounded like it was in pain. I shot him a helpless look. Maybe this was a sign? Maybe we just needed to take a minute and—

He shook his head swiftly at me as though he could read the direction of my thoughts, his eyes searing and intent.

“Well. I-uh, was just on my way out.”

At this statement my attention whipped back to Georgia. “You’re leaving?” My heart picked up speed again.

“Yeah. I’m uh, going to study at Harris’s place. You two can hang out here.” Bending over in her chair, she quickly stuffed her feet into her tennis shoes. Rising, she crammed her books and a notebook into her backpack. Shaw and I stood awkwardly, tension swimming in the air around us. I’m sure Georgia could feel it, too.

It was clear she was leaving so we could be alone. I knew it. Shaw knew it. She knew we knew it. Considering that, it felt silly to pretend otherwise, but we did.

At the door, she grabbed her coat off its hook. “Well, night. Good seeing you again, Shaw.”

He gave her a distracted smile. “You, too.”

“Bye, Em.”

With that parting farewell, the door clicked shut after her. And we were all alone.

Chapter 15

I SLIPPED MY HAND from his and stepped back, all nerves again. We’d been alone before, but everything felt stripped away right now. Exposed. He’d seen the painting. I couldn’t pretend anymore that he didn’t affect me. He knew he did, and he wasn’t going away this time. I couldn’t make him leave.

I didn’t want to.

I slipped the strap of my small handbag from my wrist and dropped it onto my cluttered desktop. His feet moved in a slow half circle as his eyes followed me.

“How long have you been working on that painting?”

Oh. He was going right for the jugular then and cornering me about the painting. I angled my head as I slid off his jacket and draped it on the back of my chair. Shrugging lamely, I slipped off my earrings. Dropping them on my desk, I said simply, “I don’t want to talk about the painting.”

“Say nothing. Reveal nothing. That’s your MO.” He approached me with slow steps and I felt stalked. I moved aimlessly, staying just out of his reach, wishing the room was bigger right then as he closed in on me. “But silence reveals, too, you know.”

“Yeah? And what have I revealed?”

“You’re scared of me.”

I shook my head fiercely.

“Yes,” he announced, smiling grimly. “Because you feel something for me.”

My heart beat faster. “Arrogant, aren’t we?”

“That’s my face up on the wall at your fancy art show. Not any other guy’s. Admit it. You like me.”

I snorted. “Maybe I just think you’re hot . . . a good subject to paint.”

“You like me,” he repeated, pausing to reach behind his neck and pull his shirt over his head. My chest ached, actually hurt as I took in his masculine beauty. At the hard abs that could probably break a fist.

“Maybe I just want to f**k you,” I flung out, waving at him with a shaky hand. “You said I’d beg you to. And I mean, look at you. You look like someone who would be good at it.”