here. ‘Those pesky females who fought for women’s rights.’ If they were ever going to have a chance of dealing with this baby together she had to win this round.
‘I know who the Suffragettes are,’ he grunted, then spun away and paced across the room. His stiff, angry strides lacked his usual grace.
He braced his hands on his hips as he stared out the window. His shoulders looked like carved rock silhouetted against the sunshine. Clearly he’d never had an ultimatum like this before, and he didn’t have a clue how to deal with it. Well, good—it was about time he learned that not every female on the planet was prepared to bow to his every whim.
The expertly mown lawn dissolved in an angry haze in front of Luke’s eyes. He was so annoyed with Louisa he wanted to throttle her. The woman was turning out to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated—and not the enjoyable kind.
One minute they’d been about to devour each other, and the next she’d been talking a load of rubbish aboutrights and decisions and demanding he apologise for…For what, exactly? He didn’t even know what he’d done that was so terrible.
To add injury to insult, he was so hard in his jeans it was a wonder he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.
Nobody told him what to do—especially not someone who’d been so vulnerable the night before that he’d had to mop up her tears and tuck her into bed like a baby. She needed him to take care of her. If she’d just admit that they could get past all this nonsense and get back to what mattered. And right now relieving the ache in his groin was top of the list.
But how had she turned the tables on him so neatly? She’d been as ready as he had a moment ago. He’d heard that staggered moan, smelt the intoxicating scent of her arousal. But she’d still managed to pull back. He knew she could be stubborn, and over-emotional, and contrary, but where had this backbone of steel come from?
He rubbed the back of his neck, tried to focus on the problem.
What mattered in any negotiation was the bottom line. And the bottom line here was that he wanted Louisa to stay—for a week at the very least. So they could finish what they’d started—both in bed and out. It was pretty obvious she had a problem with any kind of authority—so he’d have to tread more carefully.
He turned around. She was watching him, waiting, her eyes flinty with determination, her fingers clasped tight on the lapels of her robe. She looked valiant, despite the bare feet and freshly scrubbed face—like a warrior instead of the fanciful, inexperienced girl he’d once taken her for. Why he found that attractive, he had no idea.
As he approached her he noticed how her puckerednipples stood proud against the thin fabric of the robe. She was no more immune to him than he was to her—he might have to concede this battle but he would still win the war.
Louisa could see he’d calmed down, but her stomach muscles were still taut with nerves. If he didn’t apologise now she would have to leave—and in the last few minutes she’d realised she didn’t want to. Not yet.
Although she wasn’t really sure why.
They’d spent nearly the whole of the last twenty-four hours bickering. And when they weren’t bickering…Well, the overpowering desire to get naked with him didn’t make their association seem any more promising, really. But as she took in his tall, elegant frame, that devastating face, the thick hair falling in careless waves across his brow and the carefully hooded eyes, she realised she found Luke Devereaux as intriguing as he was infuriating.
The man was an enigma—and a devastatingly sexy one at that. And she wanted to know a lot more about him. Who was he? What made him tick? And why did he captivate her, even though he appeared to have the sensitivity of a gnat?
But first they’d have to get his ego under strict supervision.
He buried his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. The stance
‘I know who the Suffragettes are,’ he grunted, then spun away and paced across the room. His stiff, angry strides lacked his usual grace.
He braced his hands on his hips as he stared out the window. His shoulders looked like carved rock silhouetted against the sunshine. Clearly he’d never had an ultimatum like this before, and he didn’t have a clue how to deal with it. Well, good—it was about time he learned that not every female on the planet was prepared to bow to his every whim.
The expertly mown lawn dissolved in an angry haze in front of Luke’s eyes. He was so annoyed with Louisa he wanted to throttle her. The woman was turning out to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated—and not the enjoyable kind.
One minute they’d been about to devour each other, and the next she’d been talking a load of rubbish aboutrights and decisions and demanding he apologise for…For what, exactly? He didn’t even know what he’d done that was so terrible.
To add injury to insult, he was so hard in his jeans it was a wonder he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.
Nobody told him what to do—especially not someone who’d been so vulnerable the night before that he’d had to mop up her tears and tuck her into bed like a baby. She needed him to take care of her. If she’d just admit that they could get past all this nonsense and get back to what mattered. And right now relieving the ache in his groin was top of the list.
But how had she turned the tables on him so neatly? She’d been as ready as he had a moment ago. He’d heard that staggered moan, smelt the intoxicating scent of her arousal. But she’d still managed to pull back. He knew she could be stubborn, and over-emotional, and contrary, but where had this backbone of steel come from?
He rubbed the back of his neck, tried to focus on the problem.
What mattered in any negotiation was the bottom line. And the bottom line here was that he wanted Louisa to stay—for a week at the very least. So they could finish what they’d started—both in bed and out. It was pretty obvious she had a problem with any kind of authority—so he’d have to tread more carefully.
He turned around. She was watching him, waiting, her eyes flinty with determination, her fingers clasped tight on the lapels of her robe. She looked valiant, despite the bare feet and freshly scrubbed face—like a warrior instead of the fanciful, inexperienced girl he’d once taken her for. Why he found that attractive, he had no idea.
As he approached her he noticed how her puckerednipples stood proud against the thin fabric of the robe. She was no more immune to him than he was to her—he might have to concede this battle but he would still win the war.
Louisa could see he’d calmed down, but her stomach muscles were still taut with nerves. If he didn’t apologise now she would have to leave—and in the last few minutes she’d realised she didn’t want to. Not yet.
Although she wasn’t really sure why.
They’d spent nearly the whole of the last twenty-four hours bickering. And when they weren’t bickering…Well, the overpowering desire to get naked with him didn’t make their association seem any more promising, really. But as she took in his tall, elegant frame, that devastating face, the thick hair falling in careless waves across his brow and the carefully hooded eyes, she realised she found Luke Devereaux as intriguing as he was infuriating.
The man was an enigma—and a devastatingly sexy one at that. And she wanted to know a lot more about him. Who was he? What made him tick? And why did he captivate her, even though he appeared to have the sensitivity of a gnat?
But first they’d have to get his ego under strict supervision.
He buried his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. The stance
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