Heroes Are My Weakness(51)

She rested her elbow on the table. “Was it the pups? Was it me? Who were you trying to hurt?”

He took his time answering. “Ultimately, I guess it was myself.”

Which revealed nothing at all.

He said, “You should have let me know about Mariah’s legacy the night of the breakin.”

She rose and picked up her wineglass. “Like you tell me everything. Or anything, for that matter.”

“Nobody’s going around firing a gun at me.”

“I don’t— I didn’t trust you.”

He turned toward her, his gaze seductive without being lecherous. “If you knew what I was thinking right now, you’d have good reason not to trust me, because some of my happiest memories happened in that cave. I know you don’t feel that way.”

If it hadn’t been for what had happened that last night, she might almost have agreed. The wine hummed through her veins. “It’s hard to feel nostalgic about the place where you almost died.”

“Understandable.”

She was tired of being on edge, and she loved the way the wine had made her relax. She wanted to seal away the past, undo it so it never happened. Pretend they’d just met. She wanted to be like the women she knew who could see an attractive guy in a bar, tumble into bed with him, and walk out a few hours later with no regrets and no self-flagellation. “I’m basically a guy,” her friend Rachel had once said. “I don’t need emotional attachment. I just want to get off.”

Annie wanted to be a guy, too.

“I’ve got an idea.” Theo leaned against the bookcase, and the corner of his mouth kicked up. “Let’s make out. For old times’ sake.”

Because she’d had three glasses of wine, she didn’t answer him with nearly enough conviction. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?” He moved away from the bookcase. “We won’t be breaking any new ground, the two of us. And since you can’t completely shake the feeling that I’m out to kill you, you won’t need to pretend you have any deep fondness for me. And frankly . . . I could use the practice.”

The wine in her bloodstream couldn’t resist the mischief beneath all that smoky velvet seductiveness. But even though she was drunk enough to do this, she wasn’t so drunk that she didn’t have a few conditions. “No hands.”

He came toward her slowly. “I don’t know about that.”

“No hands,” she said more firmly.

“All right. No hands. Below the waist.”

She cocked her head. “No hands below the neck.”

“I’m fairly sure that’s not realistic.” He stopped in front of her and removed the wineglass from her hand as intimately as unfastening a bra clasp.

She liked almost-drunk Annie. “Take it or leave it.”

“You’re making me a little nervous,” he said. “I told you I’m not confident about my kissing. Other things, yes. But just kissing? No confidence at all.”

His eyes were laughing at her. Brooding, wicked Theo Harp was snaring her in a net of erotic whimsy. Her hand moved to her hair. She pulled off her ponytail holder. “Call on your inner sixteen-year-old for help. He was very good at kissing.”

He gazed at her hair, drained the last drops from her glass, and closed the final few inches between them. “I’ll try.”


THEO HAD NEVER BEEN A jerk about it, but when he’d wanted a woman, he’d always been able to get her. That kind of sexual arrogance, however, was dangerous with someone like Annie. Why hadn’t she called him on his game? She knew better.

He didn’t remember the last time he and Kenley had kissed, but he did remember the last time they’d f*cked. A middle-of-the-night f*ck—she hating him and making sure he knew it. He hating her and trying not to show it.

He gazed down at Annie’s closed eyelids. They reminded him of pale seashells washed up on the beach. She’d grown some sharp edges over the years, but she still wouldn’t know how to be a ballbuster, not even if she read the manual. She clung to her puppets and her fairyland of good intentions and happy endings. Now here she was, ripe for kissing. And here he was. About to take advantage when he should walk away.

He ran his thumbs across her cheekbones. Her lips parted ever so slightly. Annie didn’t expect good behavior from him. She’d seen his worst, and she didn’t expect him to save her, to shield her, to do the right thing. Most important, she wasn’t expecting him to love her. That was what he liked most. That and her total lack of faith in his decency. It had been so long since he’d had the freedom to let down his guard and be who he wanted to be.

A man with no decency at all.

He lowered his mouth over hers. Lips barely touching. Wine-scented breath mingling. She arched her neck, looking for firmer contact. He forced himself to draw back, a bare millimeter. Their lips brushed, but that was all.

She saw his game and pulled back ever so slightly, creating a space he quickly filled, but only with the lightest touch. She had every reason to fear him, and letting him get so close was ludicrous, but she moved her head so her lips skimmed his like floating feathers. Only seconds had passed, but he was already hard. He sealed his mouth against hers, parted his lips, tongue thrusting, going in for the kill.

The heels of her hands slammed into his chest. A pair of outraged hazel eyes seared him. “You’re so right. You’re a terrible kisser.”