She turned her head, breaking the contact with his finger. His hand dropped to his side.
Remorse tried to rise but she fought it back with anger.
“Jared, if you came to apologize, fine.” She tried to sound hard, cold. She was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. “If I accept it, will you leave?”
“I apologize for not returning the pin immediately,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. “I would have come sooner, but there was that little matter of tracking you down. However,” he said, holding up his hand, “I refuse to apologize for making love to you.”
She shook her head, furious that tears had crept into her eyes again. “I don’t want to talk about that. It was all a lie, anyway.”
Jared clamped his mouth shut on his immediate denial. He knew she wouldn’t believe him. Not yet.
And he’d rather show her how wrong she was. He wanted to kiss her and be done with it. He’d wanted to since the moment he’d walked into the shop. Hell, he’d craved it since the morning she’d disappeared.
That worried the hell out of him. But he was damn good at ignoring things he didn’t want to deal with.
And when he did have to deal with something unpleasant, he could usually charm his way through it.
But for the first time in his life, he worried his charm might not be enough to get him out of this situation and back into Belle’s good graces.
“How could you doubt exactly what I was feeling?” he said. “I never lied about that.”
That brought her gaze around to him. How could he have ever thought she was merely pretty? With her cheeks pink-tinged with anger, her green eyes flashing and her chest heaving, she was gorgeous.
“Oh, please. Men are ruled by their sex drives.” She flung out a hand. “Doesn’t all of this prove that?”
He swung his gaze around the room again, taking a closer look this time. The artwork in the display cases appeared to be Asian. Couples in various sexual positions, some he’d never imagined. That was slightly humbling.
And holy shit, she had two O’Malleys. Both from the same series.
He’d check those out later, along with the rest of her collection, but now one particular small object caught his eye. He moved away from her, hoping like hell that she didn’t leave, and walked to a shelf on the other side of the room.
“What I see is a collection of artwork celebrating lovemaking,” he said.
He turned to catch her expression and was again struck by how much he wanted her. Even in the straight-laced suit with all the buttons precisely done up and the blocky square-heeled shoes, she exuded sexuality. She seemed to draw it from her surroundings. Especially in here. She lit up in this room.
Right now, though, she looked a little flustered. It puzzled him.
“Most men see it as a sign that I’m easy.”
His brows flew up. “Oh, yeah? Then they’re not really worth the time, are they?”
She crossed her arms over her breasts, her expression firming. “What do you want, Mr. Golden?”
He smiled. He had an easy answer to that one.
“I want you…to accept the pin and my apology. I never meant to hurt you.”
Her expression didn’t change, though she blinked twice. “Accepted. Now please leave.”
He grinned, baring his teeth. No way.
He knew she wouldn’t give in easily, but he had no intention of losing her so quickly this time around. This time, he would decide when they were through.
“Why don’t you show me around a little first? I’d really like to see your collection.”
Her pretty chin hitched up another notch. “There’s nothing here I want to show you.”
“Really?” He turned to pick up a large wooden object from the display case beside him then held it out to her. “How about this?”
She flushed but he didn’t think it was in embarrassment. No, she was pissed. And that was much better than hurt.
She swallowed hard and met his gaze.
“Do you know what you’re holding?” That husky voice of hers took on a schoolteacher tone.
He took another look at the object. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure what it’s supposed to represent. But why don’t you tell me about it?”
She fought the urge to answer, fought it so hard, he could almost imagine her biting her tongue to keep from answering. Finally, she walked near enough to gently pluck the precisely detailed phallus from his palm.
“Not that you care, but that’s five hundred years old and African.” She turned to replace it to the shelf and quickly stepped away from him, as if he might bite.
And he just might.
He turned to the display shelves again and examined the beautifully detailed netsuke. She must have more than a hundred of the tiny Japanese carvings, representing almost as many variations of the sex act. They were some of the finest work he’d ever seen though he didn’t collect them.
He collected paintings and etchings and he’d thought he had a damn good collection of erotic art. Annabelle’s put his to shame.
He recognized pieces by Romano, Paul Emile Becat, Antoine Borel, and Agostino Carracci. No Beardsleys, which made sense. He remembered she didn’t like him. There were a few by artists he didn’t recognize, one or two he’d like to buy.
Especially the O’Malleys.
Not that he considered even broaching that subject now. He had designs on much more than her artwork.
He wanted her. She’d become a craving, one he needed to work out of his system. Maybe because she’d been the one to walk away first. That didn’t happen to him often. Usually women wanted to keep him and used any and all weapons at their disposal.
But he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He only wanted her again. At least one more time.
He turned to find her watching him, her mouth pursed but her eyes…
She could pretend all she wanted but she wanted him too. She couldn’t hide the heat in her gaze. Not when she looked at him like that.
But first he had to make amends.
“Annabelle, I am sorry I hurt you that night. My only excuse…Well, my only two excuses are that I love my grandmother and I wanted you. I still want you.”
When she didn’t say anything, he took a step closer. “I dream about you. I can’t go into the Salon without replaying that night in my mind.” He bent close enough to nip her earlobe if he wanted. “I go into that room a lot and it’s damned inconvenient to walk around with a hard-on all day.”
Now he did catch her lobe between his teeth as he heard her breath catch. He let the silky skin slide through his teeth then blew on it. She shivered and her lips parted to allow a heavy sigh to escape.
Then she moved away again. “I don’t want anything you have to offer, Jared.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying that, sweetheart.” He traced a line from her shoulder to her hand then back up, until he came to the first button on her jacket. “I think you dream about me. I think you dream about that night and want more.”
When she didn’t knock his hand away, he flicked open the button.
“I think you burn for me like I do for you.” Another button gave up the fight. “I think you want me to show you. Right here. Right now.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t do anything, just stood there, still as a statue, those green eyes glazed and staring straight ahead.
“I am so sorry I hurt you, Annabelle,” he breathed into her ear, meaning every word. “I never meant to hurt you. Let me make it up to you.”
He touched his mouth to hers, brushing their lips together, trying to get a response from her. When she only stood there, he turned his head to slant his lips over hers and delve deeper.
He wanted her to respond, wanted her to feel as out of control as he did.
And when she moaned and threw her arms around his neck to draw him closer, harsh desire broadsided him. He thrust his tongue between her lips and stroked her tongue, her teeth, the roof of her mouth. She welcomed him, opening her mouth wider to accept him, and it was his turn to groan.