'Keep it,' he said. 'I don't want to talk to anybody.'
She dropped it into her purse, for lack of anything better to do with it. They stared at each other warily, both afraid to breathe.
'Want to take this fight upstairs and have it in the privacy of your apartment?' His voice was still hard, but the terrifying edge of his fury was blunted.
She nodded, and knelt down to gather her things up against her chest. Her clumsy fingers kept dropping things. Six flights were a long journey with Connor seething behind her. She felt his gaze burning into her back. Staring up at her body in that insubstantial dress.
She fished her keys out of her purse. As usual, he took them from her and pulled out his gun. She waited patiently through the whole familiar ritual until he waved her in, and locked and bolted the door.
She flipped her floor lamp on as he shrugged off his coat, flung it over a chair. He planted his feet wide and folded his arms over his chest. 'So?' His voice was flat. 'Let's hear it, Erin.'
She dropped her things on the floor. Covered her breasts with her arms, and dropped them again, in an agony of embarrassment. She gathered up handfuls of her skirt and searched for a starting place.
'When I got to Mueller's place, Tamara met me at the door,' she began. 'She showed me a Celtic gold torque, in the shape of two fighting dragons. A new acquisition. Extremely beautiful.'
He nodded for her to continue. 'OK. And?'
'Mueller had requested that I model it for him. I tried to excuse my way out of it, told her I was dressed wrong. She said they had already ordered several gowns to set off the torque for me to choose from. She pressured me and… and so I—'
'And so you did it. You took off your clothes in that man's house and put on a dress that he bought for you.' Fiercely controlled anger vibrated through his words. 'Jesus, Erin, What were you thinking?'
She squeezed her eyes shut against his gaze. 'I wasn't,' she admitted. 'I wish I hadn't done it. It was embarrassing and awful, and I will never, ever do anything so stupid again in my life, I promise. Please don't make such a big thing of it, Connor. It's just… a dress.'
He seized her upper arms, so suddenly that she gasped in alarm, and pulled her over to the standing mirror, the only antique piece that she had allowed herself in the tiny apartment. The rosy light from the basket lampshade painted her body with garish reddish streaks of light and shadow. His arm beneath her breasts pulled the decolletage lower, so that the aureoles of her nipples peeped over it. Her lips were stained red with Tamara's cosmetics. Her eyes looked huge and frightened.
Connor stared at her in the mirror. His eyes were dilated with dark fascination. 'Look at yourself,' he said. 'Maybe this is just a dress on some other woman, but not on your body. On you, it's something straight out of a hard-core wet dream.' He pressed his erection against her bottom. 'Last night you said you were my woman.' His low voice took on a soft, hypnotic quality. 'This morning you said it again. Did you mean it? Or were you lying to me?'
'I meant it.' Her voice was very small.
He slid his hands down and gripped her waist. 'Then I'm going to keep this real simple. We'll just forget our many other complicated issues, and concentrate on basic ground rules. Things that I thought should be obvious.'
'Connor, you don't have to—'
'It is not OK with me that my woman should go to a strange man's private home unaccompanied,' he said. 'It is not OK with me that she should model priceless ancient jewelry for his enjoyment. And it is really,
She shook her head. 'It wasn't like that. I'd never even met the man, Connor, and I—'
'Bullshit it wasn't. Are you telling me that he didn't come onto you? In that dress? The way you look? Because I'll never believe it.'
She hesitated, and licked her dry, trembling lips. 'He didn't force himself on me,' she said cautiously.
That wild, scary look began to burn in his eyes again. His fingers dug painfully into her waist. 'Ah. Now there's a nice distinction for me to chew on,' he said. 'What did he offer for your favors, sweetheart? Ropes of pearls? Paris by moonlight?'
She gulped at the fiendish, pinpoint accuracy of his guess. He felt it, and yanked her back against him, hard and possessive. 'Shit,' he hissed. 'He did. Didn't he? That fucking bastard. He actually did!'
'Don't,' she pleaded. 'It doesn't matter anyway, since I refused.'
'Ah. That's comforting. Must have confused the hell out of the poor guy. Talk about mixed signals.'
She shoved against his implacable grip. 'Be reasonable,' she snapped. 'That's enough of this macho power trip, please.'
'Oh, I have not even begun the macho power trip yet, babe,' he said. 'This is all just the buildup.' He cupped her breasts, tugging the fabric down until her taut brown nipples peeked out.
His skillful fingers caressed her breasts, and his unexpected gentleness made her vibrate with startled pleasure. She flung her head back, shivering. Completely unprepared for him to seize the neckline of the dress and tear it straight down the front with one vicious wrench.
She cried out. He held her struggling body fast, and ripped it again, baring her breasts. Another rending rip, and her belly was bare. She twisted against him, frantic. 'Good God, Connor! What are you doing?'
He wrenched until the dress gave way around her waist. 'This is called nonverbal communication. I want you to understand how strongly I feel about this. I want you to take me very, very seriously.'
'I get the message, for heaven's sake! There's no need to—'
'I also want to make absolutely sure that you will never wear this goddamn thing. Ever again. I want'—he tore the skirt wide open—'to be dead certain.' He let the ruined thing drop to the ground around her feet and stared at the black lace thong, the thigh-high sheer black stockings. The spike-heeled black shoes.
He plucked at the sheer lace of the panties. 'You don't have lingerie like that in your underwear drawer, Erin,' he said. ''You haven't been a bad girl for long enough. This is Mueller's stuff. Right?'
She pressed her quivering lips together. 'I was wearing regular old cotton briefs when I went. Parity lines. A huge fashion don't. Tamara had ordered these for me, along with the dresses, and the stockings. And… the shoes.' She braced herself for another explosion.
It didn't come. She opened her eyes. He was staring at her body.
'Take them off,' he said He let go of her, and stepped back.
She slid her fingers beneath the strip of lace, tugged it slowly down over her hips, and let it drop to join the discarded heap of golden fabric.
'Just look at you,' he said hoarsely. 'I want to fuck you right now. With the stockings and the shoes and the slutty makeup. Turn around, Erin. Slowly. Give me the full treatment.'
Her heart quickened, her breath along with it, with primal female caution. Her body responded to his hunger, no matter how volatile the brew of passion was tonight: a wild alchemy of lust and possessive fury. She wanted to drink deep of that dangerous potion. No matter the cost.
She straightened her spine, and turned around for him.
She lifted up her hair over her head, arched her back so that her breasts jutted out. She spun on the balls of her feet in the fragile, sexy shoes, undulating for him. She flung her hair back so that the ends of it tickled her bottom. The air she moved through felt as thick as honey.
Connor unbuckled his belt. He wrenched the buttons of his jeans open and pulled his stiff, flushed penis loose of the constricting fabric. 'Come here,' he said.
Challenge followed escalating challenge. The feverish glow in his eyes sharpened the liquid ache of yearning that started between her thighs, rippling down her legs, up into her belly, her chest. Taking him in her mouth had always made her feel powerful. She started to sink to her knees, but he grabbed her shoulders.
'Wait.' He shifted back so that his thick boots were planted squarely in the middle of the heap of torn golden fabric, and pulled her toward him. 'Kneel on top of this dress. And suck on my cock.'
Startled alarm jolted her out of her sensual dream. 'Good Lord, Connor. What are you trying to prove by —'
'You know damn well. Me and my macho power trips.' He shoved her down in front of him. The fabric was
