Havana placed her cup on the counter and crossed to the door. She glanced through the peephole out of habit, and her body stiffened while her devil hissed. Tate.
A flare of excitement buzzed through Havana’s veins. A flare she quickly stomped on. He’d be here as her landlord, nothing more. Unless … he hadn’t heard about what happened last night, had he? If so, he was nosy enough to pry, and he’d be all Grr, you’re under my protection, why didn’t you call me, grr? It seemed unlikely that news of it had reached him, though.
Bracing herself for the impact of his full-on raw masculinity, Havana opened the door. Her stomach flipped as their eyes locked. She wasn’t perversely glad to see him. She wasn’t. Nu-uh.
Oh, how she bullshitted herself at times.
His gaze glittered with heat as it travelled the length of her, making her pulse quicken and her hormones clumsily trip all over themselves. Standing a few feet behind him, Luke and Farrell watched her closely.
“Can I come in?” Tate finally asked.
She should say no. She should turn him away. But that would be weak and cowardly. She could handle being around him. She’d have to learn to handle it, considering he was her landlord.
Havana slowly stepped to the side to allow him to pass. He told his bodyguards to wait in the hallway and then entered her apartment. Her devil snarled as he boldly walked into her living area like it was his own. Hmm, it would appear that the animal wasn’t going to forgive him any time soon.
Havana followed him, only stopping when she reached the edge of the fluffy rug. She loved to watch him walk. Loved how his long legs covered the ground with an unhurried, confident stride. All that predatory elegance and animalistic sexuality was hot as holy hell.
Tate sank onto the black leather sofa and draped his arms over the back of it. He glanced around, sweeping his gaze over the butterscotch walls, the cherry oak furniture, the abstract artwork, and the leather armchair.
He followed the path of his hand as he slid it over the arm of the sofa. She wondered if he was remembering the time that he bent her over it and savagely hammered into her. If the heated glance he shot her was anything to go by, the answer was yes.
His gaze briefly flitted to the large corner bookcase. “I’m not sure why a person would need that many books.”
“You can never have too many books—everyone knows that.” She tipped her head to the side. “Why are you here?”
His broody, super-intense eyes drilled into her so boldly it almost made her squirm. Almost. She was made of sterner stuff.
He swiped his tongue over his front teeth. “We need to talk.”
“We did that last weekend.”
“Not really. You said your piece, danced around my questions, and then you left.”
Well, yeah. Her devil flexed her claws, wanting him gone. Havana opened her mouth, intending to ask him to leave, but then she thought better of it. Tate had a one-track mind—he never conceded, never gave up, never backed down. The quickest way to get him out of her apartment would be to just let him talk. “All right. Say whatever you came to say.”
His eyes bore into hers, as if he was desperate to see inside her head. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what made you want to walk away all of a sudden. Your decision came out of nowhere, and I want to know what really led to it.”
No one could ever say he wasn’t tenacious, could they? “I honestly don’t get why you can’t drop this. You only ever meant for the fling to be temporary, so I don’t see an issue here.”
“The issue is that you’re not being upfront with me.” He pushed to his feet, making her heart thud in her chest. He leisurely stalked toward her, all smolder and danger and dominant male energy, only halting when there were mere inches between their bodies. Sexual tension crackled in the air, making the hairs on her nape stand on end and her body get all tingly and stuff. Gah, she should not have let him in.
“Is there someone else?”
The oh so casual question made her nape prickle. “I already told you there isn’t. It’s just time to go our separate ways.”
“Why? What we had was good.”
“What we had was sex. A fling. It was no different from the others you’ve had in the past.”
His jaw hardened. “It was different.” The admission seemed torn out of him.
“How?”
“It was exclusive, for one thing. I didn’t demand exclusivity from my past casual partners. I didn’t give a whisper of a shit if they slept with other men. I also never fucked any of them in my bed—only you. So yeah, Havana, it was different.”
Oh. Well. Okay. She hadn’t known that. Determined not to be moved by it, she shrugged one shoulder and said, “I was still only a plaything to you.”
“Plaything?” he echoed, dropping his voice a few octaves. “You liked it when I played with you. Liked it when I used you. Tasted you. Pinned you down. Fucked you however I wanted to fuck you.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “But you were never just a plaything to me.”
As need rose sharp and fast inside her, Havana clenched her fists so tight she felt her nails dig into her palms. She knew she should shove him away, but it was hard to be sensible when so much sexual tension pulsed in the air.
He moved his mouth to her ear. “Do you remember the first night I had you? I slammed you against my front door the moment I closed it. I would have taken you right there in my hallway … but you weren’t going to make it easy for me. You ran, you struggled, you fought. But then you yielded, and I took you on my dining table with your legs hooked over my shoulders. Fucked you so deep and raw you screamed for me. I’ve never come that hard in my life. Not until I had you the next time. And the next time. And the next time.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She was easily seduced by words and he knew it. Knew her “trigger words,” so to speak. Knew exactly what buttons to push.
He breezed his thumb over her lower lip—it was such a soft touch, and yet she felt it in her core. “You remember, don’t you?”
“Sort of.” She let out a shaky breath as his big hands possessively spanned her waist. “Tate.”
Humming, Tate buried his face in her neck and breathed her in, letting her luscious scent fill him up. He’d missed it. “Just your scent alone makes my dick hard.” There was nothing subtle or delicate about that staggeringly irresistible blend of cherry blossom, rich jasmine, and fresh lotus flower. And when it was spiced with arousal just as it was right then, that scent could bring him to his knees.
He ground his teeth as the impulse to mark her began to pulse in his chest like an aching wound, becoming more of a need than an urge. Tate refused to answer it. Leaving a mark of possession was one thing. Marking someone as an exertion of dominance was a whole other thing. He’d never do that to Havana.
Wanting to feel more of her, he snaked his hand down her stomach, heading for her pussy. But her fingers curled tight around his wrist and stilled his hand.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what, baby? Don’t touch you? Don’t taste you? Don’t give us what we both want?” He caught her earlobe with his teeth and gave it a light nip. “Tell me it doesn’t feel good when I’m inside you. Tell me you haven’t missed it.”