He hadn’t wanted like this since he was a young man, since he’d learned the danger in it. And even knowing that danger now, he couldn’t seem to step back.

“I’m sorry I made you feel as though I were dissecting you at Slade and Jessie’s.” He held back a smile as suspicion instantly lit her gaze.

“Really?” She crossed her slender arms beneath her breasts, cocked those shapely hips defiantly, and stared back at him, plainly disbelieving.

“Cross my heart.” He laid his palm over the middle of his chest as he watched her somberly. “That wasn’t what I was doing at all.” His hand dropped from his chest as his grin slipped free. “I was actually undressing you with my eyes.”

She wanted to laugh, he knew she did. The way her lips tightened, the narrowing of her eyes to hide that gleam of amusement.

“Jazz, one of these days you’re going to make me kick you,” she warned him with convincing disapproval.

He might have been convinced if he hadn’t caught that little twitch at the corner of her eyes when he winked at her.

“Come on, laugh, you know you want to,” he dared her.

“What I want is to know why you showed up on my doorstep tonight,” she retorted, glancing away from him momentarily.

When her gaze returned it was once again calm, though the suspicion still lingered. Watching him, her hand lifted to brush back her hair as it fell from behind her ear to brush against her cheek. She tucked the strands back with two fingers, though, rather than the three most women used. The odd little habit seemed strangely familiar, he just couldn’t place it.

The bandage he’d put on her hand earlier was gone, he noticed then, the wound now covered with a Band Aid, albeit a large square one. And she acted as though it hadn’t even happened. Or as though being cut, being hurt, wasn’t exactly foreign to her.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he finally told her. “And the thought that you believe I’d hurt you irritates me, sweetheart. It irritates me a lot.”

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit to himself. But as he stood there, facing her, he had to acknowledge to himself that her lack of belief in him had him questioning himself and what he might have done to make her distrust him.

“I don’t believe you’d physically hurt me,” she said carefully, swallowing as the pulse at her throat began to speed up. “I never thought that, Jazz.”

It was the truth.

She stared back at him directly, remorse darkening the hazel eyes as regret filled her expression.

Some of the tension that held his body taut relaxed. He hadn’t realized how much it did bother him that she might be scared of him. Wary of his intentions, he could understand. Frightened of his strength, well, he’d have to do something about that, if it had been the case.

“Then how do you think I’d hurt you?” Stepping closer he watched the indecision in her eyes, watched as she considered moving back, running from him. In the end she stood firm, even when he reached out and tucked that falling hair back into place for her.

“Like this,” she snapped, a little glare on her face. Her hands lifted to press against his chest when he stepped closer. “You use your soft words and your appreciation for a woman to seduce her straight into your bed. And it’s all a lie, isn’t it?” A hint of anger flashed in her eyes, and she did step back then. “You lie with every kiss, every touch, then you lie further when you convince them that walking away and staying friends will be so much more emotionally fulfilling than kicking your ass to the curb to start with.”

Kick his ass to the curb? Hell, what had he done?

Of course staying friends was better than breaking hearts and leaving hard feelings. Hell, there was enough of that going around. There was no need for him to add to it.

“Damn, you definitely have an opinion on me, don’t you?” He wasn’t angry, but he damned sure wasn’t happy at the moment. “Where the hell do you come up with this crap? Because I haven’t broken as many hearts as possible? Because I’m not moaning and moping because mine might have been broken? Really, darlin’? Don’t you think that’s just a little judgmental?”

His heart had been broken, though. It had been decimated to the point that it had taken nearly a decade to heal.

“No, I really don’t.” Her chin lifted stubbornly. “I know what I’ve seen out of you in the past two years and I know what I’ve heard. Your ex-lovers talk about you as though you’re some sort of trophy they were allowed to hold for a while. Now all they dream about is one more night. Well sorry, but that just isn’t me. I’d just go ahead and shoot you.”

Damn, she was a bloodthirsty little thing, wasn’t she?

He almost chuckled at the fierceness of her expression as it mixed with feminine arousal. She hadn’t learned yet how powerful anger could make the hunger.

“Shoot me for what?” He feigned disbelief. “For seducing you? Because I want you, because my dick is perpetually hard?”

A flush mounted her cheeks then, her gaze almost dropping to his thighs as though to verify his claim.

“Your dick stayed hard before I ever met you,” she accused him a second later, disgust snapping in her tone as she flipped her hand toward him disdainfully. “If you weren’t such a damned hound dog, Jazz, things might have been different, but as it is the thought of being part of the Jazz Lancing fan club just doesn’t sit well with me.”

It didn’t sit well with her?

So that was why her nipples were so hard they looked like little pebbles beneath her bra and shirt?

That straight little nose lifted, nostrils flaring as though some scent offended her, and Jazz could feel the dark core of sexual dominance rising inside him with a strength he hadn’t experienced before her.

At this rate they were both going to end up regretting what he was coming far too close to doing.

Or maybe not—

“Keep lying like that, baby girl, and I’m going to show you how full of shit you really are,” he warned her as she glared up at him, defiance and stubbornness tightening her expression.

“And how do you think you’re going to do that?” Little fists clenched at her sides as she angled herself as though attempting to go nose-to-nose with him. “You couldn’t show me a damned thing, Jazz, you’re too busy protecting that cold little heart of yours while you’re notching your bedpost like some collector.”

Damn her.

Staring into her eyes he saw the anger, that it was a very small part of the heat driving her. Her breasts were heaving, hard little nipples tempting him to touch, to taste. And he was betting they’d be candy-sweet. Her hazel eyes were greener, a hint of freckles over her nose more noticeable, and he knew what arousal looked like in a woman. He knew how hunger brightened her eyes, flushed her cheeks, and plumped the curve of pretty breasts. And he knew she was showing every sign of it.

“Let me just show you how I’m going to prove it.” Before she dared try to avoid him, he gripped her hips, lifting her against him, he wrapped one arm around her waist, the other around her back. His hand buried in the back of her soft hair, his fingers clenching in the silken strands.

Pulling her head back his lips slanted over hers, tongue driving past them as control exploded into a white-hot, searing lust he swore he’d never known before. Her kiss was like pouring gasoline to a fire. They were both burning out of control now.

She could slam his ass for his hunger, for lovers he hadn’t touched since meeting her, and all the while lie through her teeth about her own need for him?

The hell she would.

She was practically shaking as her arms slid around his neck, holding on to him as though terrified he’d let her go. Her lips parted, a whispery moan leaving them as he tasted her with his lips and tongue, claimed her kiss, devoured the hunger he could feel in her response.