Gathering the remaining dishes, Dayne left the table. She dumped the garbage, leaned back against the sink, and took a moment to appreciate the big man's chest. His body went beyond perfect, all thick, cut, and close enough to touch.
His shoulder soon became slickened with condensation. She watched as one fat droplet took a slow slide down his pectoral, tipping on his nipple, a tongue lick away.
In the dim light of the kitchen, the urge to pop the droplet was strong. She clasped her hands tightly. Breathed deeply. Fought temptation, and lost.
She tapped the glistening drop with the tip of her finger. The barest touch and the droplet split into two. Slow motion trickled the water over his six-pack before it pooled at the slit of his navel. Spilling over, the drops were absorbed in the waistband of his navy boxers.
The water spots made Dayne blink. Her finger was still pressed to his nipple, and given the depth of Kason's breathing, the man was turned on.
She pulled back, mumbled, “Sorry.”
No words from him, just a heavy-lidded stare, hot enough to set her panties on fire.
“Touching is dangerous and complicates our living arrangements.” His baritone made her belly shimmy.
She should never have been so impulsive. “It meant nothing, nothing at all,” she was quick to assure him. “We're roommates for one more night. Nothing sexual. I can picture you as a girl.”
“A definite stretch of your imagination.”
“I can and I will.. .Kassie.”
He went utterly still, and his face bled pale. The corners of his eyes pinched, as did his mouth. A haunting hurt scarred the silence. A flash of vulnerability and pain crossed his face. She'd struck a nerve, unsettled him.
His chest heaved, and his words were ground out. “What did you just call me?”
“Kassie,” she slowly repeated.
He iced over. “Don't call me that again.”
His command pushed her buttons. Mick had dumped on her earlier, and now Kason wanted to steal her freedom of speech. Pain and anger lifted her chin. “I'll call you whatever I like.”
“I'm asking you nicely to stop.”
Nicely? He looked ready to kill. Dayne would not be bullied. Fool that she was, she went for the fight. “Kassie.”
“Damn, woman, very unwise.” The words were said darkly, tightly, and threaded with violence.
“Kassie.” She couldn't stop herself.
He was on her, so fast and furious she never saw him coming. As he forced her back against the refrigerator, both his hands slammed on either side of her head.
The air around them thickened, as charged with her taunt as his reaction. A reaction stemming from anger and deep hurt.
Breast to chest, his weight crushed her.
Air caught in her lungs and her heartbeat raced.
His exhale came slow and hot on her cheek. His eyes were now glazed. “I warned you—”
“Kassie,” she dared, knowing she'd lost her mind.
He shoved her words back down her throat with his tongue. He was out of her league the moment he kissed her. His kiss burned, bruised, punished. The intensity of the moment shook her. She couldn't fight his full-body press. The refrigerator handle jabbed the small of her back while his erection jammed her belly.
He kissed with a violence that should have scared her. Somehow, it didn't. He was mad as hell, yet she sensed that his anger came from pain. She'd triggered a memory that sought revenge.
He was taking his past out on her.
She clutched his upper arms so tightly, her nails scored his flesh. His big body held her against the refrigerator door.
The appliance was cool against her back. The man was hot against her front.
His gaze was hooded and distant when he released her mouth. He wasn't fully seeing her. He was, however, moving on her body.
Curving one big hand about her neck, he set his thumb to the pulse at the base of her throat. The wild beat sent him stroking lower, a primal slide of his palm over her collarbone, his fingers soon touching her nipple.
His touch slowed, somewhat gentler, yet firm with purpose. Dayne closed her eyes, pressed her face to the hard bulge of his bicep, as he captured her breast.
Squeezing, kneading, Kason was good with his hands. Raw, racing need rose off him, as thick and straining as the ridge of his sex. His anger now sought physical release.
His hips rocked against hers, solid, grinding, rhythmic. In no time he would be inside her.
She had to stop him. Sex against the refrigerator with a near stranger stretched beyond crazy. But the thought was vague as his long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her sweats, then slid within the silk of her panties. He stroked her with a skill that shut off her mind and forced her to do nothing but feel.
She went wet for him.
Wet, but not willing. A part of Kason Rhodes sensed her hesitancy. He mentally distanced himself from the woman he now fondled with the intimacy of a lover. He fought to catch his breath. Tried to reclaim his sanity. She'd provoked. He'd punished. Yet he'd only hurt himself.
He should never have allowed the tomboy to return him to his childhood. He was a man in control of his emotions, his feelings wrapped tight. Yet the taunt “Kassie” opened a wound and he'd bled out. He regretted it now.
He looked down between their bodies. The neckline of her top still hung off her nipples and the drawstring on her sweatpants was tugged low off her hips.
The exposed skin was flushed as pink as the wings on her butterfly navel stud.
The slickness between her thighs had invited him to enter her. Yet her dazed expression hadn't held the same naked lust that fired his belly. Her hands clutched his arms; her legs were stiffly locked.
He'd gone off on her, all wild and wounded.
She'd let him rage on her body.
She hadn't tried to fight him.
His hand was still down her panties.
He swore, pulled free, and dropped back a step. He was acutely aware how small she appeared. The perception reset reality.
Tension born of his adrenaline and her vulnerability filled the air. He watched as Dayne adjusted her top and sweatpants. Her hands shook and her cheeks burned.
Once fully covered, she cleared her throat, and cautiously met his gaze. “I know what not to call you.”
“We can't repeat what just happened.” He owed her an explanation, which he reluctantly gave. “You jarred a bad memory that brought out the worst in me.”
She touched her ringers to her lips—lips now swollen from the grind of his mouth against hers. “We all have our demons,” she said softly. “Some that won't die. I didn't mean to be cruel.”