Chase Me (Paris Nights Book 2)(46)

He stopped his work on the leather to look at her a moment. His eyes narrowed. “Pff. You’re easy.”

Vi sat straight up. “I’m what?”

“All I have to do is make you mad. You love being mad. I’m talking about me. I’m hard. In fact, right this second, I can’t figure out how to deal with me at all. If you keep pulling all those emotions out like that, I’m actually”—he dropped his voice dramatically, peering over his shoulder as if to make sure no one could overhear—“deathly afraid I might be complicated.” He shuddered.

“You think you’re more complex than I am?” Vi demanded, outraged.

A tiny smile curved his mouth. “See? I told you you liked to get mad.”

Vi folded her arms, her splint getting in the way. “You are harder to deal with than I am,” she stated, incredulous. She pretty much defined high-maintenance, damn it!

He slanted a glance at her. The creases showed in his cheeks. “I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger,” he bragged outrageously.

Vi pounced up onto her knees. “You have got me wrapped around your little finger?”

He held up one pinky and made a twirling gesture, smug.

“Allow me to demonstrate exactly how simple and easy you are.” Vi leaned forward.

Chase gave her a look of polite interest. While struggling to hide those dimples.

She laid her hand flat on his chest, fulminating.

He looked down at it. His mouth curved like the cat that swallowed the canary.

She pushed.

He didn’t budge.

She pushed harder.

It didn’t even seem to affect him. No yield in his body at all.

She frowned at him.

He smiled at her, and then very slowly let his body curl away from the table, his abs tightening to keep the motion so controlled, until he was resting against the couch behind him.

And instantly heat swept through her, at that yielding. He was, she had to admit, incredibly hot. Broad shoulders, hard chest, a ribbed, flat stomach, all covered right now by nothing but a thin T-shirt. Arrogance and humor and heat, building, focusing on her. She could feel it. See it in his eyes.

See? Easy.

She stroked down his chest over his stomach, just to feel that hard ripple. He took a deep, slow breath. Still smiling a little.

She ran her hand along the line of his jeans, letting the tip of her fingers slide under the band.

His smile slipped away, but then he caught it back. “Shh,” he murmured and took her hand, setting it on his shoulders. “You’re in too much of a hurry. I don’t have to be that simple.” He stroked her hand down over his arm and flexed a little for her.

Wow. Biceps like that made a woman glad to be alive. She flowed into movement suddenly, straddling him. He tilted his head back against the couch, breathing slow and deep, watching her under short, thick lashes. She was close enough that she could actually see that “kitten scar” on his cheek, so fine that she kept wanting to brush it away because it looked just like a stray hair had gotten caught there.

She touched the scratch left by her own nail, suddenly somber. Then touched the spot on his jaw where her fist had landed.

“Honey,” he said suddenly. “You’re worried about the wrong thing. My buddies and I try to kick each other’s asses all the time, just to keep sharp. In fact, sometimes when we’re bored, during some lull in training, we do things like throw rocks at each other’s stomachs and whoever flinches first loses.”

They had macho contests in the kitchens, too—who could pick up a hot skillet in his bare hand, who kept working through the worst injuries.

Actually, considering that she did the same thing, it was a little annoying to think of that trait as “macho.” A woman could be tough and still a woman. Hell, she had some older friends who had been through labor.

Without drugs or anything.

“Some people are just idiots,” she said.

He smiled.

“This would be your training in hotel security?”

He laughed. And then corrected: “We used to do that. When I was in the military.”

“Oh, purée,” Vi muttered. Her thumb traced over his square, stubborn jaw.

He shifted a little into the caress, like a big cat, his eyes half-closing.

Yeah, see? You’re easy. She ran her hand slowly down his throat, caressing the strength of it like something precious and vulnerable. When her thumb came to rest in the hollow, stroking, his eyes closed all the way. A deep breath moved through his body.

So easy. She spread her fingers over his breastbone. A great heat and strength radiated from him, spreading through her body. She wanted to get more of it. Knead it to her and into her, absorb it everywhere.

Her splinted right hand rested chunky and awkward on his left shoulder. It was with her left hand, the hand that was just a little less confident, just a little less capable, that she had to work her wiles.

That was okay. I can take you left-handed. I can take you with one hand tied behind my back.

She could feel his arousal, so fast and so hard that he must have been at least partly aroused before she ever made a move. Now he was definitely aroused, and she twisted her hips against him in a slow figure eight, savoring how much he wanted her. And I’m still in control, ha.

Yeah. Easy.

She ran her hand down his hard biceps, curved her fingers over the defined triceps, trying to get all of him. It frustrated her no end that she couldn’t just sink both hands into him, and to make up for it, she bent suddenly and nipped his left shoulder. Mmm. Better. Stroking and rubbing down over his right arm with her unbroken hand, she used lips and teeth and little teasings of her tongue to explore his left arm, too.