What's Yours is Mine (3 page)

She yanked it back up. Clutching her scant shield, she scooted closer on the bed, slicing her free hand through the air for emphasis as she spoke. “I don’t care if there’s a number twenty-five or a number twenty million and five. Get out of my condo.”

Deep breath. He had to stay calm. No matter the provocation. “You ruined my career, isn’t that enough? Do you have to ruin my home too?”
 

Oops. That wasn’t calm.
 

He hastily stood up and backed away from the bed. Her quick inhale reminded him that he was naked too.
 

What of it? He had no reason to be embarrassed. After all, when he’d gone to sleep three hours ago, he’d been in his own bed. In his own bedroom. Alone. He had every right to be nude. “What number is yours? I’ll guide you to it now. I can get the master keys from Tim’s office.” There, that sounded calm. Felt calm, even. He could do this, he could get through this ridiculous mix-up and go back to sleep, forcibly blotting out the memory of Darcy and her perky nipples.
 

“No. This condo is mine. Number fourteen. The Sea View. Mine. Janet gave me the key last month.” Her words were defiant, but her voice quivered. As if to make up for the momentary vulnerability, her gaze swept him like a torch, flaring at all the wrong places.
 

And now he had an erection. Well, he wasn’t going to compound the problem by grabbing an edge of the blanket like a fig leaf. Erections were normal, a fact of life. She’d have to deal with his. It meant nothing.
Nothing
.
 

“There’s been a mistake. Number fourteen is mine. I picked the location out from the floor plans Tariq drew up fourteen months ago, made modifications in the arc of the skylight and the style of the bathtub to fit my needs. It’s my condo.”

He could tell from the twist of her mouth that she was starting to believe him. But then she shook her head violently. “You’re making all that up. Lying to make your story more plausible. You stole the place from me. Just like you stole from Stan, just like you stole from my project account after pretending to be my…my friend. It’s your MO, isn’t it? Act all charming and innocent and politically correct and then pillage the land before you go.”

Seriously?
That
was her beef with him? “You’re not even making sense.”

She forgot about the sheet in her passion, letting it slip down her body. “I get it now. You saw me in the courtyard that day, couldn’t stand that I was in the complex, that I had snagged the nicest unit, even, and you shifted papers around for your own benefit. Underhanded and sneaky, just like at Golden Organics. You haven’t changed a bit.” She’d scooted so far across the bed toward him that she was nearly at the edge. “Well, I’m on to you, buster. You can’t get away with this.”
 

His head was spinning. Her illogic, her anger, the lateness of the hour, it was all too much. “
You’re
accusing
me
of trying get away with something? You’re the one who stole from the company!” Oops, that was decidedly
not
calm.
 

He closed his eyes, trying to find his center. Breathe, that was the trick. Breathe in and out, breathe slowly, focus on breaths. Count breaths.
 

“What?” She leaped off the bed. “Explain yourself!” And now she was entirely naked. Her nipples weren’t the only things he saw. No, he saw it all, from the curve of slim waist to the dark pubic thatch at the apex of her long legs.
 

His breaths were getting a bit ragged, his counting a tad uneven.
 

Darcy came a step closer, and now she was nose to nose with him. “
What did you say?
”

“I said you stole from the company. Oh, not literally. You didn’t stash a pile of money in your private bank account, but what you did with the Slippery Elm Lotion, that was unconscionable. Immoral, not to mention illegal. And that’s stealing, not just from the company, not just from Stan in a perversion of everything he stands for, but from the consumer.”
 

He was proud of himself. He sounded calm. Logical. Oh, the erection didn’t help his dignity, to be sure, and his heart was racing, but his voice was normal. No shouting, no red face.
 

The same couldn’t be said for Darcy. Her cheeks were flushed. Her forehead too. In fact, it looked like the heat went all the way down her chest, and onto—
 

She was in his face, blocking his view. “You— I—” She grabbed his biceps, trying to shake him. “I did nothing of the kind, you arrogant, judgmental, two-faced, stone-hearted jackass!”
 

It was too much. Her painful grip, her absurdly self-righteous anger. Her very presence. He exploded. “Me, arrogant?
Me?
You’re the one who screwed up an entire product line so bad Stan decided to toss out everyone who worked on it. Except you, for some reason. Were you sleeping with him? Blackmailing him?” The words coming out of his mouth were so angry, so harsh, he didn’t even believe what he was saying, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt like a valve popping open, releasing all the tightly bottled anger fermenting inside him for the past four years.

Darcy looked momentarily stunned. Then she slugged him in the chest. Her fist clearly got the brunt of the impact. She flinched but still hauled back to try again.

Will grabbed her hand, twisting her arm back, away from harm. She struggled in his grip, her body twisting against his. At the intimate contact, he felt an unexpected rush of sensual pleasure, all wrong at a time like this. She clearly felt it too, because she grabbed his hair with her other hand and hauled him closer to her, panting as she did so.
 

“You son of a bitch. You lying piece of—” And then she kissed him, mashing her mouth against his in a way that should have been a complete turn-off but instead was rough and hot, and boy was he ever going to regret this, but his cock throbbed so hard it hurt, and Darcy was grinding against him as she tangled her fingers in his hair and yanked him closer, and he remembered how much he’d wanted to do exactly this four years ago on those late nights with her voice whispering in his ear, and hell if he was going to stop now.

~*~

Darcy was on fire, delirious. Dizzy with fatigue, the room wobbly and out of focus, yet her body felt electric, wild, out of control. This infuriating man in her arms had been standing right in front of her fully naked, taunting her with his thick erection and his fierce gaze and his smell, that smell, pine and salt and sun. She craved that scent with an intense thirst. She was so angry she wanted to punch him or fuck him or both at the same time. How dare he invade her home and claim it was his? How dare he let her hope four years ago, let her open her heart, then destroy her work and walk away without a scratch? Past and present mingled in an unholy, heady rush of angry lust, and she pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, wanting to consume him, to wring him dry, to feel him rigid inside her as she rode him. She wanted to fuck his brains out and leave him crying for more as she walked—no, sauntered—away. Prove to him he meant nothing to her.
 

Just because she could, she yanked his hair again, relishing his small gasp. Pleasure or pain, it didn’t matter which. His cock jumped against her belly. She slid against him, on top of him. Moving her body teasingly, wanting to infuriate him.
 

It worked. He grabbed her and twisted them both around. In an instant, she was under him and he was rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, squeezing, pinching, and the sensation shot through her. At the same time, his cock slipped ever so casually between her legs, heavy and solid, rubbing against her thighs.
 

She wriggled under him. “Now. Do it now.”

“Now?” His voice was harsh, frayed. “You sure? But—” He pulled away just a tiny bit.
 

Oh God, was he really going to stop?
 

“I’m on the pill. No baby Doughertys to screw up my life, go ahead, do it. Make me come so hard I forget how screwed up this is.” She arched against him, her body burning up, feverish, craving succor. Craving it now, dammit. “Do it
now.”

With a pained groan, as if fighting his own better judgment, he slid into her—thick, hot, intense pleasure.
 

Thank God, he moved like he knew what he was doing. He braced himself on the bed, his eyes squinched up like he was in pain, twisted his hips, and fucked her like he meant it.
 

“This is insane.” The words came out in guttural gasps.
 

“If you stop, I’ll kill you.” She bucked up against his pelvic bone, taking him fully inside her with each movement. But it wasn’t enough: not hard enough, not fast enough, not strong enough to blot out their screwed-up past or the crazy mess of whatever came next.
 

He buried his face in her shoulder, shuddering against her. “God help me, you feel too good.”
 

“Shut up. Just…shut up.” She gasped, the cool air coming into her lungs sending a thrill through her, mixing with the intense feel of his warm body, his hot cock against her core. He felt good, so good, but she wanted more. She grabbed his buttocks and yanked him close.
 

He understood. Yes, faster, oh, the friction, the delicious hot fullness of him. She spread her palms across his buttocks, felt his muscles bunch and release as she rose to meet him again and then again.
 

Hip to hip, grinding against each other, abrasive, raw pleasure. Harsh pants and groans, muffled curses as he got closer; she could feel the pulse of him as he moved faster, yes, but still not fast enough. She wanted to feel only him, only this, wanted to obliterate all thought, ride the energy coursing through her like a steel drum, heavy and hard, beating, beating, beating, and
yes!
She came, pulsating around him. He cursed and heaved against her yet again, and then he too came, pulsing, pulsing, and gone.
 

She was dimly aware of him slipping out from between her legs, getting up off the bed, then his footsteps receding across the floor, but she didn’t care. She was exhausted, replete.
 

She slept.

Chapter Three

The moment after his body stopped pulsing from the aftershocks of his admittedly powerful orgasm, Will knew with painful clarity that this was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Wild, abandoned sex with Darcy Jennings in the midst of an all-out fight? What had he been thinking?
 

He hadn’t. He’d been feeling. Her nude body against his, the red-hot anger pounding in his head mingled with pure intense
need
.
 

This was why it was bad to lose your cool.
 

She was already at least half-asleep, her breath whistling through her slackened mouth, her head turned to the side. When he got up, she momentarily stirred, then settled. He went out into the main room. Moonlight shone through the skylight, illuminating edges of couch and chairs.
 

He went to the back door, sliding it open to hear the sound of the surf. It didn’t help. His body still vibrated from that surreal sexual release, his head throbbed from loss of sleep and emotional turmoil, and he felt disoriented. Displaced. This place was home, yes, but such a new home, he wasn’t sure where things were in the dark.
 

Restless, he paced through the space, claiming it. His room. His condo. Not Darcy’s. His. If he were a cat, he’d rub against the walls and corners.

His.
 

He went back into the bedroom and snagged boxers and a T-shirt from his dresser. Darcy had rolled over onto her side, her head pillowed on her hand. She was snoring lightly. She looked utterly content.
 

Hard to believe that mere minutes ago, they’d gone at it like teenagers in heat. He’d slammed into her with almost no self-control. She would probably find a way to use it against him tomorrow, even though she’d been an equal, greedy partner.
 

He left the bedroom. No way was he going to lie down next to her and go to sleep as if this were normal. This was anything but normal.

~*~

Darcy yawned and stretched, wriggling under the soft sheets. The mattress gave way ever so slightly, as if it molded itself to her body, holding her in a gentle embrace. She felt wonderful after what was probably the best night’s sleep she’d had in years. She’d slept through the night, not once getting up, not once checking the time, not once groping blindly in the darkness of a strange hotel bedroom for the light switch or her cell phone or her sleeping pills (which rarely worked, just leaving her with a dry mouth and a buzzing sensation in her brain).

Speaking of strange bedrooms…
 

She bolted upright. This was Will’s bed, not hers. Will’s bedroom, if he was to be believed.
 

They’d fought last night, hadn’t they? She remembered yelling at him, her face hot with anger, ready to explode, while he’d said unforgivable things in an ultracalm, this-is-the-way-things-are voice. And oh God, she’d jumped his bones, hadn’t she? She’d straddled him, forced him—no, not forced. She remembered a crushing kiss, his hands on her breasts, his cock thrusting deep and hard. Mutual insanity. Incredibly satisfying, orgasmic insanity.
 

Time to face the consequences. She got up, but not before patting the mattress in thanks for such a preciously rare solid night’s rest.
 

The bedroom was appealing. It seemed Will had a nice eye for decorating. Too bad he’d be taking this stuff with him when he moved out. Mission-style nightstands, petal-shaped glass lamps. Not too smart in earthquake country. She could do without those. A serene framed photograph of sea and sky hung on the far wall, and a surfboard leaning against the dresser completed the outdoorsy feel.
 

She might almost like him based on this decor. Good thing she knew better.