Page 39 of Reckless Woman
“Where are we heading?”
“I’ll know when we get there.”
“That’s kind of vague, don’t you think? I figured you were the master of the exit plan.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “As long as there’s a church and a priest, I’m good.”
My foot slips again and the car hits a rapid eighty. “You want us to getmarriedtoday?”
“Slow down,” he barks. “Besides, it shouldn’t be such a shock.”
“You asked me to marry you four days ago!”
“Men like me don’t have the luxury of forward thinking, Anna. We stick to the present.”
“Do I get a choice in this?”
“Nope.”
“You arrogant maniac.” I suck in a ragged breath. “Those pills must be really messing with your brain, Joseph Grayson. You can hardly stand. How the hell are you going to walk down an aisle?”
“I’ll crawl if I have to.” He slides a large palm up the inside of my leg, his voice dropping to a seductive octave that’s instantly dirtying up my thoughts. “Hands and knees, baby…all the way to the ultimate prize.”
He’s reached the top of my thigh now and I nearly run a red light. I’m still wet and needy from earlier.
“Why now?”
“Why not?”
“Hmmm, let me see….” I lift a shaky hand from the steering wheel to count off the numerous reasons. “We have a bunch of defecting Colombians after us. You’ve said about ten sentences to me our entire relationship—most of them in bed. And your weird proposal doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence over the forthcoming state of our marriage.”
“I really want to taste your pussy right now.” The car jerks forward again. “Maybe your asshole, too.” He’s eyeing me like I’m a condemned man’s last meal.
“Stop trying to change the subject,” I splutter, but I’m squirming in my seat. “I’m still mad at you. You jammed a ring on my finger and then ignored me for two days.”
He stares straight ahead, his jaw ticking.
“Care to explain?”
“No. Did you play with yourself in rehab?”
“You’re kidding, right?” I shoot him the mother of all WTF side-eyes. “You mean in between all the intense meditation and the hot stone yoga classes?”
“That’s a ‘yes’.”
“That’s a ‘hell no’.”
He starts toying with the button to my skinny jeans. “Touch yourself again without my permission and we have ourselves a problem.”
The button’s toast.
The zipper follows.
“For a sick man, you have serious priority issues,” I mutter, trying to push his hand away, but it’s not going anywhere. “Were you just guzzling Viagra?”
He laughs, a rich unfamiliar sound that flattens the last of my defenses. “Darlin’, I couldn’t get any harder for you if I tried.”
“Can we maybe deal with your alpha urges once you’re feeling better?”