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talk.”  He’d had enough.  If he didn’t
get to touch her soon he was going to combust.
    “Talking to you is like having a conversation with a
baboon.  A lot of grunts and butt scratching, but no real information
exchange.”
    “Cute.  Very cute.”
    “Thanks.  Now leave.”
    “I said we’re going to talk and that’s exactly what we’re
going to do.”
    She turned back to the blueprints and swatches on her
drawing board in the hopes that he would get the hint and leave.  Instead,
he came up behind her, and yanked her around by the arm until she was facing
him and neatly pressed up against the table.
    “Back off.”
    “Not in this lifetime.”
    She pulled back her right fist, but he caught it and held it
down against the table before she could strike.  She tried the left and
got the same result.  She was neatly pinned and that was enough to have
her anger hitting the roof.  She growled.  He ignored it.
    “I said,” he began very carefully, “that we are going to
talk.  We have been dancing around this for a week and a half and I’m damn
sick of it.”
    “We don’t have anything to talk about other than the sexual
harassment charges you’ll be facing if you don’t BACK OFF.”
    “Jesus Christ, you are the most stubborn, contrary
pig-headed brat I have ever met.”
    “Well then, if that’s the way you feel why the hell do you
want to talk to me, you mule-brained ape?”
    “Because I damn well can’t stop thinking about the way you
taste!”
    The words hit her low in the stomach, making her breath
catch and her brain freeze.  She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak,
but nothing came out.  Just like that, anger turned to desire.
    “Got your attention?”  His words were low and brimming
with heat.
    She swallowed carefully, aware that he was watching every
breath and reaction with hot eyes.  She tried to breathe again, to tough
it out.
    “Your problem.”
    “My problem?  That’s it?”  He let go of her hands
and stepped back carefully.  “I never would have pegged you for a coward.”
    “I’m not a coward.” 
    “Prove it.”
    She stood there with her fists clenched, biting her bottom
lip, knowing that she really wanted to be biting him. 
    “I don’t . . .”  She wasn’t sure what she was going to
say but he moved again until he was close enough that their breath mingled, and
she could feel the heat radiating from his massive body.  She lost the
words.
    He was too close but still not close enough.  The contradictory
emotions bombarding her system were overwhelming. 
    “Prove it,” he said.  “Touch me.”
    “I don’t want to.”
    “The hell you don’t.  You can’t keep your eyes off me.”
    “Your ego’s showing.  Now back off.”  But her
voice came out weak and soft, not at all her usual tone, so it was no wonder he
ignored her and moved his body closer still.
    “I need you to touch me.”
    She closed her eyes to the heat.  The sparks were too
much in her present condition.  But then she became aware of the smell of
him, the feel of him. 
    “You need me to touch you, too.”
    “I don’t . . .”
    “Touch me.”
    Did she touch him?  It wasn’t clear who touched who
first; it hardly mattered when her arms locked around him, his hands fisted in
her hair, and their lips devoured.  It was like a lightning rod in sand,
everything shifted, heated, everything changed. 
    “God, yes,” he said, his voice a heartfelt groan under her
teeth and tongue.  She was fire in his arms and all he wanted was to
burn.  He picked her up by the hips, pulling her up to his level for
better access.  She wrapped her legs around him for the same reason. 
When she pushed at his t-shirt, he accommodated her and nearly groaned again
when her hands were on his bare chest.
    “You have the best body.”  She leaned back until she
could look at him, her hands petting him, her eyes caressing.  Then they
narrowed on his face and she wrapped one delicate finger around