“Jameson . . .” I whispered.

A rustling sound came from the corner. I couldn’t help but shift in my heels, balling my hands into fists at my side. I would need the strength of Hercules not to strangle Jameson.

His deep voice reverberated off the walls, unyielding. “Miss Black.”

After the slight clicking of shoes, his lean silhouette appeared. He stopped only a foot or two from where I stood, his eyes fixating on my mouth again. I had a moment of déjà vu. My anger sizzled, my blood burning in my veins. This man made me lose my mind. I hated him, and yet every time we were alone there was this energy between us. I wanted to strangle him, slap him, and kiss him all at the same time, a response only he could provoke in me.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly.

“To knock some sense into you,” I bit out. “What the hell was that out there?”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a cocky smile. “Don’t worry, princess. They’ll all think it’s just a little sibling rivalry.”

He was such a maddening beast. He was exasperating, and one look could ignite a rage I didn’t know existed. If only he wasn’t so damn breathtaking. I mean, really, who looks that good?

He stepped closer. With Jameson now practically on top of me, I had to coach every inch of my body into staying still. I felt like a teenager frazzled by a first crush, my limbs pulsating to the beat of an imaginary techno song.

He shifted, moving his arms, and placing his hands in his pockets. Being in a room alone with him twice in one night was outlandish. I hadn’t seen the man in exactly four hundred and twenty-three days, and now this.

I had to get as far away from him as possible. Why did I think I should come yell at him, again?

“We should—”

“Do you remember what you asked me the first time we were in San Diego together?”

Those words sucked the air from body, leaving me breathless. All I could manage was, “No.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

Another stride closer.

“You wanted me to show you something,” he said.

I nodded, internally noting the symptoms of close proximity to him. My mouth—dry. The air—thick. My pulse—liquid magma. Knees—weaker than a toothpick holding up a piano.

Jameson started circling me, his breath caressing the back of my neck. “I still have the sapphire rope in my—”

I put my fingers across his mouth, “You can burn it for all I care.”

Jameson seized my wrist. We stood there for an eternity, until he leaned into me and whispered, “You’re such a little tease,” he paused, steadying himself, his face an inch from mine. “Isn’t that right?”

I jerked my hand out of his clutch. The silence thickened, and I guessed he didn’t dare open his mouth. I turned to leave but he clung to my waist, and the sensation of his hands made me shudder. What was he doing? He’d insulted me, for Christ’s sake. But I couldn’t pull myself away, and some sick part of me craved his touch. The levelheaded version of myself was gone.

“Turn around,” he ordered in the commanding tone I recalled so vividly. “Look. At. Me.”

My brain churned a million miles per second. It begged, pleaded, and shouted for me to go, flee, run in the other direction, anything—but somehow, I couldn’t. And my body betrayed me. Slowly, I rotated, facing him. The look in his eyes was pure undiluted need.

His hands traveled up my body, fingertips skimming my arms, caressing my shoulders, teasing my collarbone. I bit my bottom lip to muffle my gasp as he moved his thumb across my mouth. I licked after it, tasting the salty flavor. His touch was a drug. One hit and I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function, plunged into an endless abyss of wanting.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god! What is happening?

Jameson eased his palms on either side of my neck, stroking languidly. He thumbed my cheeks. His chest rose and fell, slightly quicker with each beat.

In a quiet, authoritative whisper, he said, “Don’t move.”

He lowered his head slightly, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth. I groaned when he tugged at it hard. His mouth covered mine. His kiss was brutal, but the teasing . . . worse. Jameson dipped his tongue in, circling in a slow, provocative torment. He devoured me, lick by lick, and I let go.

Whatever battle I’d been fighting disappeared in his kiss. The taste of scotch burned my tongue, but I didn’t care. His lips were exactly how I remembered them, firm and soft, sweet and spicy, an obsession that I’d never get over.

Then suddenly, quicker than a fire in dry heat, he wasn’t just kissing me anymore. He sucked, licked, and bit my neck, jaw, and lips without restraint. His hands and mouth issued the orders while I freely surrendered. When Jameson brushed his mouth against the skin right behind my ear, it detonated a shockwave through me.

“You haven’t changed. Same sweet taste,” he whispered.

Reaching up, I clawed at his thick, slicked-back locks, digging my nails into his scalp. He growled, picking me up and pinning me to the closest wall. He traced my collarbone with kisses before dipping down to the top of my breasts. Jameson used his tongue, licking up over their swell and between my cleavage. While his lips were occupied, he allowed his hands to roam farther south. He ran them over the back of my thighs, squeezing my ass.

God! That feels incredible. Why was I avoiding sex again?

“Jameson,” a voice came from the hall. “If you’re back here with some random woman, give me the signal.”

“Fuck, it’s Charles,” he groaned into my ear.

I immediately pushed him off me, sliding down the wall until my feet hit the floor. I straightened my dress and adjusted my hair while Jameson stood motionless.

He stared at me. “You don’t seem flustered in the slightest.”

“What?”

“How often do you get caught in this position?” he said sharply.

“You son of a—” My fidgety palm finally found its target, swishing through the air and cracking across his cheek on impact.

Jameson didn’t move a muscle. He looked at me with fire in his eyes, like he wanted to punish me or scold me, but couldn’t. His chest heaved, reminding me of a bull preparing to charge.

Mr. Davenport’s voice came from the hall again. “Jameson! Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Each word boomed closer than the last.

Without a word, Jameson adjusted his tie, ran a hand through his mussed hair, and smoothed out the fabric of his tux. Keeping his eyes on the door, he leaned toward me. “You’ve been aching to slap me all evening. Do you feel better?”

I glared at him. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

He licked my earlobe lazily. “I think you remember my rules, Miss Black, and slapping me is not allowed,” he whispered in a breathy groan.

Before I dared blink, his body heat vanished. Opening my eyes, I caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders before he disappeared into the hall. The tight knot in my gut at the loss of his touch pulled at my insides.

The air around me buzzed. Had I really slapped him? The only physical evidence of my boldness lingered on my prickly palm. We’d had one of the most intense kisses I’d ever had in my entire life. Holy shit! My heart pounded harder. I did just slap him.

God, it felt good.