Sweet Temptation (The Sweet Trilogy #4)(19)

She’s panting. “You promised to be on your best behavior.” Her aura is a mix of grays and red. I’m suddenly furious we’re not still kissing. Why would anyone put a halt to such epicness?

“You kissed me, Anna,” I remind her.

“Well, you started it by kissing my neck.”

Mmm, her neck. It’d been so warm and inviting. “True. I hadn’t planned that.”

She paces the room, attempting to fix her hair, but she’s too angry and lustful. She’s shaking.

“Why did you stop?” I ask.

“Because you were moving on to other things.”

What other things? Oh . . . I suppose my hand did wander a bit, didn’t it? “Hmm, moved too quickly. Rookie mistake.”

Judging by the way she crosses her arms, it probably would have been best to keep that thought inside my head. I’m still not quite thinking straight. Why is she having this effect on me? And for the love of all things holy, why aren’t we still snogging?

It was slightly amusing at first when she stopped us, but now that I know she’s serious, I’m starting to feel a rise of panic. My body has not and will not shut off or calm down. This could get ugly.

“I can see you still want me,” I say. It’s true. She’s only being stubborn. Is this some kind of cruel angel punishment? Now she wants to be pissed off instead of lustful? “Oh. There it goes. Mad instead. Well, sort of. You can’t seem to muster a really good anger—”

“Stop it!”

“Sorry, was I saying that out loud?” She really hates when I read her colors, so I do it as often as possible. And right now it’s better to be cheeky than to let her know I’m frantic on the inside. My demand for relief is growing.

“I can read people, too, you know.” Here she goes again with the feistiness. “Well, not you, but at least I have the decency not to notice, to give them some sort of emotional privacy.”

No doubt, because she’s a bloody nun. “How very decent of you.”

She grunts with frustration and throws a pillow at me. It’s probably the angriest she’s ever been in her life. I raise an eyebrow to see how much madder I can make her. “Pillow fight?”

She wants to scream. I can see it in her rigid, huffing demeanor, but she takes a cleansing breath and deflates a notch.

Nice trick. If only I could do that. I’ve got some parts that could use deflating.

“Get off my bed,” she orders. “Please. I’m ready to go to sleep.”

That’s a load of bollocks. She’s not tired. She’s as filled with passion as I am, but she’s too bloody good to embrace it. Her self-control burns me up. I want her to throw a wobbly and break things. Then pounce on me.

But seriously. We should be naked.

I get off the bed and wave an arm toward it. She climbs deep into the covers and puts her back to me. I try to bring her back to life by reminding her that I saved her from the plonker who drugged her at the party and almost stole her first kiss. But she doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t leap from the bed and jump my bones. Doesn’t even turn to face me.

Then I remember—I had her first kiss—that’s right, me, and I want to beat my chest like an ape.

“So that’s it, then?” I say. My lust is still working at full-throttle-rocket mode, but there will be no countdown to launch. I’m torn between disbelief and a rising ache deep in my abdomen. It hurts like hell. It takes everything in my power not to be the caveman my father wants me to be and ravage this girl senseless. “I always wondered what it would feel like.”

“What what would feel like?” She finally looks at me.

“Rejection.” It would be humorous if it weren’t for the pain element. I’ve never felt this before.

“What are you saying? That no girl has ever told you no?”

She needn’t sound so shocked.

“Not one,” I say. I won’t tell her I seek out those who show interest to begin with.

“And what about you? Haven’t you ever stopped or said no to a girl?”

Pfft! “Why would I do that?”

“Lots of reasons,” she mumbles. “Never mind, just go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

She rolls back over, making all sorts of ruckus as she settles. I’ve never had much cause to hate my lustful heritage. I’ve always been able to sate the beast. But at this moment all I want is this mad need for her body to disappear. It’s more than just pain now. It feels as if a black cloud is consuming me, fogging my mind and vision. I attempt to blink it away.

I think about Anna’s last question, and suddenly my childhood mate Ginger’s face fills my mind. That awkward, terrible night when she hit on me in front of Blake comes rushing back. “I suppose I did refuse one, but she doesn’t count.” I’m babbling now, but talking seems to help. Will this feeling pass?

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because she was Neph.” My stomach tightens when I think of Ginger. She was my friend once. My closest friend.

Anna says nothing, and I’m left standing there with a rather large problem. The feeling is not passing. I desperately need to have sex or I may have to curl into the fetal position and howl. I adjust myself while she’s not looking. How do regular blokes deal with this torture when they’re turned down all the time?