Sweet Temptation (The Sweet Trilogy #4)(21)

My relief is palpable.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I bring my mouth down to hers, this lovely girl whose face I won’t remember after a week’s time. I’m hoping for that epic passion to hit me like it did in the hotel room, but it doesn’t. We’re moving toward the office door, groping and snogging as we go.

I kick the door closed behind us with my foot.

She moans as I lift her onto the desk. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

I silence her with my mouth, and focus. Though her hair is curly, not straight, and she doesn’t smell of pears, I let my need take over and I give her the best night of work she’s ever had.

An awful thought occurs as I walk back to the room.

Had Anna listened to my office romp?

Wait a bloody minute—who cares if she did? Perhaps it would do her some good. Stubborn girl. But still . . . I feel oddly off. I can’t put my finger on it, but the sex with Nessa didn’t offer me the satisfaction it should have. In fact, it left me feeling empty, like a husk, needing something more.

What I need now is a good night of sleep to shake off the rejection from Anna. She’s got my brain muddled is all. I knew she’d be a hard sell, but this is worse than I’d imagined. I hadn’t expected to sleep with her the first night, but I definitely hadn’t anticipated a firm stop sign when I’d barely reached second base. I’m accustomed to getting what I want.

I shake my head as I let myself in the room. Anna is quiet and still, but her breathing is too shallow. She’s still awake. I go to the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth.

Then I strip naked and climb into bed. I prop a hand behind my head and wonder what the little nun is thinking about. I should go to sleep, but I can’t help but get under her skin one last time, the way she’s gotten under mine with her angel voodoo.

“Anna?” I’m not surprised when she doesn’t answer. “Did you at least enjoy your first kiss?”

She’s quiet a second more. “Just go to sleep, Kaidan.”

It’s not a “no,” which makes me smile in the dark. I learned a valuable lesson tonight about how to win over Anna. Tomorrow I’ll be on my A-game. I let out a deep breath and fall straight to sleep, semi-satisfied.

CHAPTER SIX

Pears and Oranges

“I keep a sinister smile and a hold of my heart.

You want to get inside, then you can get in line, but not this time.”

—“Hero/Heroine” by Boys Like Girls

Winning over Anna means walking a fine line. In many ways she’s like other girls—she giggles and blushes and is flattered when I flirt—but only to a certain extent. Unlike most other girls I’ve met, Anna is an “old soul.” She’s like a proper old woman in a hot, young body. She can be a downright prude biddy, saying things like, “Do you think you could try to be a gentleman . . . and maybe wear shorts to bed?” and “This is going to be a long trip if you give girls the bedroom eyes every time we stop.”

I’ll admit, I love to shock her. I stood there nude this morning, wanting her to see exactly what was available for the taking. But cripes, I hadn’t expected her to scream like a banshee. And that’s the problem: I’m not the only one doing the shocking here. She continues to render me speechless with nonchalant admissions, like “I can sense pregnancies” and “I can feel other people’s suffering.”

Exactly how powerful is this girl? She can bloody well do angel things. And her angel voodoo has other power, as well, such as the power to make me open my mouth and say entirely too damn much. She’s just so selfless. So genuinely interested. There are brief moments when I feel . . . I don’t bloody know how to explain it . . . but I don’t feel myself.

I’m supposed to be making her fall for me. I’m supposed to be reminding her that I’m badass, and then crafting moments of comfort and openness. Well¸ that’s exactly what’s happening, but I’m not crafting shite. Instead I’m feeling it. She’s using her skills on me.

This girl is dangerous.

She’s got the talents of a cookie-making nana, a world-renowned psychologist, and a seductive succubus all in one. And the most mind-bending part is that she has no clue about her effect on me. It’s only been two days and I’m torn between wanting to throw her to the wolves before she infects my mind any further or hide her and keep her all for myself.

And now she’s asking me about other girls. About my motives when I work. She is digging too deep and assuming I’m some sad chump who feels bad for what I do.

But I don’t.

Yet it’s not to my benefit to announce what a heartless bastard I am. It is good she’s talking nonstop, though. In our quiet moments all I can think about is having sex with her—pulling over behind an oversized road sign, or lifting her onto my lap as I drive.

And then as I drive she says something that throws a spanner in the works.

“. . . I care about you.”

Her words reverberate through me and fill me with a sense of terror.

“Don’t say that,” I snap. I am shaking on the inside. This is what I wanted, right? For her feelings to grow. But it’s not how I thought it would be. It’s far more complicated, because now I’m feeling things I didn’t anticipate, like guilt, and I can’t understand why. “You shouldn’t say that, about caring. You hardly know me.”