I rip my gaze away from her arms and legs and look back to her big brown eyes. “You want honesty? Here it is. What the hell? We agreed last night we would do our best to keep the toxic cloud of hate fumes away from us. So why the fuck would you say that when it comes to agenting, only an athlete knows what an athlete needs?”

  “Only an athlete,” she repeats, slipping into that French accent like it’s a scarf she can toss on and off. It sends shivers down my arms. “Why does it bother you? You were an athlete too,” she adds, but quickly taps her finger against her lips. “You shouldn’t feel bad that you don’t have an Olympic medal. Just like I don’t feel bad that I don’t have a law degree, as you so thoughtfully pointed out onstage, over and over and over.”

  “You know a law degree does come in handy with contracts,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “And you made that clear. I’d argue that a law degree matters more,” she says in an eerily accurate imitation of me. She taps my chest lightly. “So, really, I’d say we’re even.”

  “‘Even’? Why did you say it in the first place?”

  “Because she asked me a question. Because I believe it. And because you and I are competitors. You never let me forget it.”

  But I don’t agree with her assessment. “You don’t want to forget it. You’re a fucking Olympic gold medalist. You love competition.”

  She sighs, conceding my point. “Fine. I do. But you’re just as ruthless.”

  I smile wickedly. “Thank you. I’ll consider that a compliment.” I take a deep breath. “But we had a truce. We had an agreement.”

  “Ah, let’s review our agreement, then. It’s that we could hate each other in private but not in public?”

  “The understanding was that we wouldn’t publicly try to undermine each other.”

  She takes a step closer, stepping into that accent again. “So what are we allowed to do in private, then? I’m just not clear on what the rules are. Because the rules seem to change with you all the time. In private we should cut each other? And in public, we suck up? Maybe we should write these rules down.”

  I can barely think straight with her this close to me, and I’m starting to regret coming to her room. Because she’s in my space, and everything about her is a red-hot distraction. “I’m talking about common courtesy. And part of that—”

  “Yes? Part of that is what exactly?”

  I stop, trying to shake off the absolutely intoxicating effect of her. “Why the hell are you talking like that around me? Are you trying to turn me on?”

  She’s inches away, and I breathe in all that delicious honey scent. It swirls around my head, toys with my brain, and tangos with my libido.

  She arches a curious brow and gazes at me far too seductively for my own good. “Does it turn you on? I didn’t realize it did that for you.” Her eyes travel up and down my body. “Or maybe that it still does.”

  I inhale sharply, trying to clear her from my mind, an absolutely futile effort with her so damn close. She is my mind right now. She’s the only thing in it, on it, and around it, but I have to get her out. “Haven, I thought we were trying to move on.”

  “I have moved on. Or maybe that’s what bothers you so much. That I’ve moved on, that I’m not the same woman I was a year ago.”

  I swallow roughly, my throat drier than a desert right now. “I’ve moved on too.”

  Her lips curve in a smirk. “That’s good to know. Because I would hate to think you were affected by things I say, how I speak, or the scents I wear. Or wait—are you still affected?”

  She knows I am. She fucking knows it. But I know something too. She’s not immune. And since she’s been getting in my space, I return the favor, moving closer to her. And there it is—her tell. The soft rush of breath.

  I grin. Wickedly. Then I take the reins from her. “I think the question is—are you still affected? Because when I look at you, when I see the goosebumps rising over your skin, when I see the flush on your chest, and when you do that . . .” I gesture to her mouth.

  Her eyes widen. “Do what?”

  I brush my finger against the corner of her lips, barely touching her. “When you nibble ever so slightly on your lips. I know what that means.”

  She swallows visibly. “What does it mean?”

  I lift a hand, reach for her face, and cup her cheek. She gasps.

  “That. It means both of us are completely unaffected. In fact, I bet we’re so unaffected that if I kissed you right now, we’d probably not even care.”

  She slides next to me, up against me, sealing her fantastic body against mine. “I wouldn’t care one bit if you did.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  She lifts her defiant chin, her pretty pink lips parted. “Go right ahead.”

  I band my arm around her waist—her tight, trim waist—and haul her in close. I drop my lips to hers, and in an instant, the world disappears.

  10

  Haven

  I don’t break out my notebook right now.

  Obviously.

  But I take mental notes, fast and furiously, because I don’t want to be in my head. I want to be in my body.

  I want him in my body, on my body, all over my body.

  So I repeat in my head the Rules for Sleeping with the Enemy…

  * * *

  1. Enjoy it!

  (What? Did you think I was going to say something else? You’re obviously about to do it. You might as well have the time of your life.)

  2. Don’t let on how much you want this.

  (Or that this is literally your go-to fantasy. Shut up, it’s not. Oh hell, he has his hands in your hair. Dies.)

  3. Whatever you do, don’t say his name.

  (It’ll help you keep your distance. You need distance from him. You know why. Remember this rule above all. No Oh, Josh, no matter what.)

  11

  Josh

  I devour her mouth. I consume her lips. I kiss her till I can’t breathe, and I don’t want to breathe anything but her.

  We kiss so hard our teeth click. She bites the corner of my lip and kisses me so ferociously it’s like she’s marking me.

  Like I’m marking her. There’s no way she’ll wake up tomorrow without whisker burn.

  Good.

  I want her to remember me. I want her to recall every single detail of how I’m going to fuck her tonight. Because I’m going to fuck her tonight. I thread my hands in her hair the way she likes, the way that drives her crazy, and I tug on those dark strands roughly. She groans, a wild sound, like desire is strangling her.

  That’s how I feel.

  Tortured by the way I want her. Twisted by this rampant lust.

  Only it’s more than lust.

  It’s so much more, and I try to pour all of that moreness into the way I touch her, the way I seal my mouth to hers.

  But she’s just as charged and not content merely to be kissed. She’s rubbing her body against me, broadcasting her intention too.

  I drop one hand from her hair, cruising down her back, coasting along the fabric of her shirt, then cupping her ass and squeezing.

  Her sounds are electric.

  Her noises are white-hot.

  I break the kiss and haul her up, lifting her so she wraps her legs around my waist. I meet her dirty gaze and growl, “Just so we’re clear, I’m going to have you tonight. I’m going to make you come. You’re going to say my name so many goddamn times it drives you crazy.”

  She stares at me, her jaw set, her eyes fiery. “You can make me come as many times as you want, but I won’t say your name.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “I guess we will.”

  “You seem pretty amped up,” I say, yanking her closer to my erection.

  Her immediate gasp says that she’s as wired as I suspected. But just as quickly, she tries to cover it up with a laissez-faire shrug. “I’m just turned on. That’s all. It’s not you.”

  I smirk. “Don’t lie. You hate lies.”

  “Orgasms,” she pants. “I like orgasms. Nothing more.”

  Don’t I ever know that. She’s not going to bend now, but I have the ace up my sleeve, and I’ll play it when I need it. Because I know how to play her body.

  With Haven wrapped around me like a koala, I walk her to the bed and drop her gently on the mattress. I crawl over her and cage her in with my arms. Her legs grip me, her feet hooked over my back. I lower my pelvis to her, letting her feel what she does to me. “You’re not the only one turned on.”

  She moans. “I guess you only want orgasms too.”

  “So you do only want orgasms,” I murmur, having fun with her as I grind and press.

  She lifts her hips, seeking more friction. “That’s it. That’s all.”

  I grin, pressing my lips to the hollow of her throat. “You’re only doing this because you’re turned on, clearly.”

  “Yes. Just turned on. Generically turned on, that’s all.” She refuses to give an inch. It’s so alluring, the way she goes toe-to-toe with me, even while her body answers with the truth.

  “So it’s just a general state of . . .” I pause to lower my mouth to her delicious neck and lick a line up to her ear. A long, lingering sigh falls from her lips, and I finish the sentence. “Arousal.”

  “Yes,” she says, all smoky and sultry. “It’s been a while.”

  I pause, absorbing her comment, because that tidbit is quite interesting. Now I need to know exactly how long. Resuming my pace, I push hard against her, unleashing a wild moan from her. Another push. Another moan.

  I swivel my hips, signaling how I plan to fuck her soon. “How long?” I demand.

  “Long,” she says in a broken whisper, trying so damn hard not to give in.

  But her body is begging. She’s arching against me, bucking her hips, praying for contact, for friction.

  This woman. I know what makes her tick. I know how to drive her insane with pleasure. I have her number and I will dial it over and over and all the fuck over with my tongue and my fingers and my cock.

  I lower my mouth to her throat and cover her neck with kisses, easing up on the roughness, sliding into slow, gentle ones along her throat.

  Her Achilles’ heel. Her dirty little secret. She loves it hard and rough and intense, but pepper in a few soft and sweet kisses, and she melts under me.

  Right now, she’s a puddle of lust, and I love it.

  I smile and nibble her earlobe, another weak spot in her resistance. A feathery kiss behind her ear. My breath in her hair. And friction, so much damn friction.

  She’s writhing and squirming and losing her mind already.

  She murmurs, an enticing string of broken sentences falling from her lips. That, oh, God, oh my God, and yes, yes, yes.

  I groan. I’m charged so goddamn hot I want to rip off her clothes and my clothes and get inside her right the hell now.

  But I table my own want. I intend to focus on her and only her. And my God, Haven is so turned on I could dry fuck her, clothes on, and send her soaring.

  But I’m not that cruel.

  Or maybe I am.

  I bite her earlobe and whisper the truth. “It’s been a while for me too.”

  Her eyes float open. “It has?” Her voice is barren, a vulnerable whisper.

  Knowing it’ll unlock another level of pleasure for her, knowing it’ll take us to the next level in bed, I prime her, asking, “You hate lies, right?”

  “You know I do.”

  Grind, push, press.

  “Oh God,” she groans, and I push up her shirt, sliding my hands along the soft flesh of her belly then dropping my mouth to her delicious skin, kissing a path along her body to her breasts, making her whimper.

  It’s the best sound ever.

  And it’s only going to get better when I tell her more. I draw one rosy nipple into my mouth, suck, then let go. “Then here’s the full truth. It’s been a whole year. A year and a month and a couple days.”

  The subtext is crystal clear.

  She pushes up on her elbows. “Don’t lie to me,” she says, all needy and desperate.

  I meet her gaze straight on. “It’s not a lie. Last time was you.”

  She grabs my face, stares into my eyes like she can read inside my soul. Hers are dark, blazing with desire. She says nothing for a long moment, then her lips part, and she lets out the most delicious gasp. “Same. Same for me. That’s why I need to come right now.”

  “Then I’ll get you there. Since I know that’s all you want.”

  “I swear. That’s all I want.”

  “Sexy little liar,” I murmur. I tug her shirt off the rest of the way, exposing gorgeous, perfect breasts I could spend all night kissing and sucking.

  But I have other plans.

  Because Haven Delilah is a pleasure-seeker.

  She’s an orgasm-chaser.

  And she lets go in bed like I’ve never seen.

  I yank off her yoga pants then take a moment to admire her white lace panties. “My favorite,” I murmur, dragging my finger against the wet panel. Her knees fall open, an invitation.

  “I know,” she whispers and closes her eyes like she can’t bear for me to see her face when she admits that she wants me.

  That she wore these for me.

  I tug them off, and my breath rushes out.

  She’s so fucking sexy and so incredibly turned on.

  Pressing my hands on her thighs, I spread her open. She glistens. “Oh, snow queen, you’re definitely turned on.”

  She groans, half in frustration, half in desire. “Just shut up and make me come.”

  I laugh, blowing a stream of air against the soft skin of her toned inner thigh. She shivers against me and lets out a delicious moan.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I know that moan’s not for me. It’s just because you’re horny.”

  She whispers her answer. “That’s it. That’s all.”

  “Of course, snow queen. And all this wetness—it’s not for me either.”

  “Not for you at all.”

  I press a hot kiss above her knee, and she lifts her hips, asking for more. Asking me to come closer.

  “But even so, you should say ‘please,’” I whisper, licking a path up her thighs, my lips so close but not quite there.

  She practically kicks her feet against the bed, arching against me, her body saying pretty please with sugar on top. But her mouth is closed.

  I slide my mouth ever so close to her center. My stubble grazes against her wetness. She moans like an animal.

  I flick my tongue against her other thigh, working my way closer and closer, teasing and toying.

  She whimpers, stubborn as hell. I flick my tongue, taking a taste, just barely, betting her desire will win.

  She cries out, and it’s fucking perfect. “Please!”

  Such a pleasure-seeker.

  And I’m a giver.

  I oblige.

  I kiss her pussy.

  And I nearly die of lust.

  She tastes better than I remember.

  She tastes like honey and desire, and she’s so goddamn slippery on my tongue. I could lap her up, drink her down, devour her.

  “Yes, God yes,” she murmurs, grabbing my hair, clawing at it, like a hungry creature. Her need only ratchets up my own lust. Kicks it up another notch as I lick all that delicious wetness.

  She pulls me closer, widens her legs, then thrusts.

  Jesus Christ, she’s halfway there, fucking my face already.

  Just the way she likes it, just the way I like it—wild and hot, nothing held back.

  She is abandoned, and I’m the same fucking way with her.

  And hell, I’m right there too, turned on beyond words, beyond reason. I lick and kiss, sucking her sweet pussy like it’s the only thing I want to do, because God knows it’s what I’ve wanted most for days. Since I saw her at the ballpark, since the plane, since the bar, since the panel.

  I give it to her exactly how she likes it.

  I eat her like she’s dessert, and I crave every last taste. I want every single drop of her pleasure flooding my lips. I flick my tongue against her hard diamond of a clit, fucking and licking and sucking so deliberately that I can barely take the way it makes me feel.

  I’m buzzing everywhere. I’m sizzling from head to toe. My dick throbs, desperate for some kind of release. Soon, I tell myself, soon.

  The focus is her right now, and she’s going wild. Her hips rock, her hands grab my hair, and her voice rises. “Yes, oh God, I’m close.”

  I grin, ready to play my ace.

  I want her to come. I really fucking do. I want it more than I want tomorrow.

  But I also need to remind her of who’s doing this to her. Who’s turning her world inside out with pleasure.

  It pains me to stop, but I do it anyway, right as she’s on the cusp. My hands are on her thighs, keeping her legs spread open. “Say my name,” I tell her, a clear command. “Say my name and I’ll make you come.”

  She groans. “Fuck . . .”

  “You know my name. Say it.”

  “Damn you.”

  “Just the name.”

  Taunting her, I lick a long, lingering line up her pussy, sucking her clit between my lips. Sucking hard. Making her delirious.

  The sound she makes hits a new level of desperate on the sex decibel scale.

  Then I break away once more. “My name.”

  “You dick.”

  “You’re getting warmer.”

  “You big, fucking dick.”

  “Even warmer. Let me help you along.” I give her the pièce de résistance, a full-mouth kiss that makes her cry to the heavens. I stop. “Try once more.”

  She bucks against me, grabs my head, and moans. “Make me come, Josh. Make me come now.”

  With a wicked grin, I give her what she wants, devouring her until she flies off the edge, calling my name again.