Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 24Willow

Chapter Twenty-Four

Willow

He's staring at me and I hate the fact that it makes me feel something. I can't quite put a finger on what, but I definitely feel when I'm around him.

"I'm not trying to sabotage you," I say. "But, I don't understand why you can't see that what you want to build is going to destroy so much more."

Lawrence steps closer, hazel eyes now flickering with a fire that could burn down the whole damn town. "You were supposed to be playing a role, remember? Supportive fiancée, not rabble-rouser."

"Sorry for having principles," I toss back, hands on hips, refusing to step down from his towering presence.

"Principles don't pay the bills, darling." His use of 'darling' drips with so much sarcasm it stings.

"Neither does destroying the planet," I retort, but before I can launch into another reason why the pipeline is bad news, he cuts me off.

"Enough!" The word explodes between us, and I'm pretty sure the birds nesting outside take flight. "This isn't a debate. It's about survival—mine, yours, the company's."

"Right, because it's always about you, Lawrence Sinclair. Never mind the rest of us who have to live with the mess you leave behind."

"Is that what you think this is? Me, just trampling over everything?"

"Isn't it?" I challenge, unwilling to back down even as something shifts in his gaze, something vulnerable that he quickly masks with another layer of anger.

"Get this straight—I do what I have to. And right now, that means keeping you in line."

"Or what? You'll cut me loose?" My heart pounds, daring him.

"Believe me, it's tempting." He takes a step back, and for a second, I think he might actually walk away. But instead, he runs a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. "We're in this together, whether we like it or not. So shape up, or yes, I will find someone who can."

"You can't just silence me because my opinions are inconvenient to your agenda," I snap. I kick off my heels and plant my feet firmly on the stupid marble floor. Another thing stolen from the Earth.

"Willow, it's not about silencing you—it's about strategy. And last time I checked, creating a scene at a dinner party isn't strategic," he retorts, his tone patronizing.

"Strategic? You mean manipulative. I won't stand by while you charm your way into building that pipeline. It'll destroy Greenwood Hollow!" My voice rises with each word, echoing off the walls.

"God, you don't get it, do you?" He advances toward me, each step punctuated by the clink of his polished shoes on the floor. "This is bigger than just one town. It's about progress, jobs?—"

"Progress?" I cut him off, hands balling into fists at my sides. "What good are jobs if there's no clean water left? No untouched land?"

"Everything has a price, Willow," he says coldly, his face a mask of infuriating calm.

"Even your soul?" I shoot back, my chest heaving.

"Low blow." He narrows his eyes, and I see the storm brewing in their depths.

"Then fight fair! Because this—" I wave my hand between us, "—this fake fa?ade doesn't give you the right to dictate my beliefs."

"Nor does your self-righteous stance give you the right to jeopardize everything I'm working towards," he counters sharply.

"Working towards?" I laugh bitterly. "You mean what you're forcing upon everyone else?"

"I said enough!" His shout rings out, and for a moment, the room stills, our breaths suspended in the charged space.

"Never enough," I whisper, my resolve steeling. "Not when the earth is at stake."

The space between us pulses with unsaid things, heavy like the fog that creeps through Greenwood Hollow at dawn. Lawrence's breath is ragged, mirroring my own. His usually composed self is nowhere in sight; instead, there's a rawness to him that I've never seen before. The polished businessman is gone, and all that's left is a man with his defenses down.

"Willow," he says, and my name on his lips feels like a challenge and a plea all at once.

"Lawrence," I breathe out, my voice barely above a whisper, but it slices through the tension.

Suddenly, we're not two enemies standing on opposite sides of an ideological chasm—we're just him and me, and the air that crackles with something more dangerous than anger. It's desire, hot and undeniable.

I don't know who moves first. It doesn't matter. In one swift moment, our bodies collide. My back hits the wall, and his hands are everywhere, mapping the territory of my frustration, my anger, my unexpected longing for him. My fingers tangle in that red hair I've imagined pulling in less heated moments.

"Is this what you want?" he murmurs against my lips, and I can taste the fury and passion that have fueled our fight.

"Yes," I hiss, because it’s true, because I can't deny this wildfire that's leaping from my soul to his.

It's frenzied, the way we come together. Clothes shed like old arguments, discarded on the floor as if they're part of another life where we are not entwined, skin to skin, breath mingling in the dim light of the living room. There's power here, in the giving and taking, the pushing and yielding.

My dress hits the floor. Larry's hands are everywhere, tugging at my underwear, and kneading my breasts. I can't bring myself to stop him.

The pipeline. I hate everything about that infernal project, but the passion in Larry's eyes as he gazes at me makes my breath catch. And the way he's touching me now, like he can't get enough...maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe we're not so different after all.

"Take it off," he growls, hooking his fingers under the waistband of my panties. I oblige, kicking them aside as he shrugs off his shirt.

Well, hello. If I thought he was attractive before, it's nothing compared to now with acres of tanned muscle on display. My eyes roam over his chest and down to?—

"Enjoying the view?" The smugness in his tone makes me grit my teeth, but then he's cupping my breasts and lowering his head to take a nipple in his mouth. A jolt of pleasure shoots through me and I gasp, sinking my fingers into his hair.

"You're insufferable," I mutter without any real heat.

He releases my nipple with a wet pop, eyes glinting with amusement. "And yet here you are."

I open my mouth to retort but then he's sliding down to his knees in front of me, gazing up with a predatory gleam that makes my thighs clench in anticipation. Our argument is clearly over because now all I want is for him to put that clever mouth of his to better use.

"Well?" I prompt impatiently. "Are you going to just stare all day or—ah!"

My words end in a startled cry as he grabs my hips and yanks me forward, burying his face between my thighs. And then that wicked, wonderful tongue begins to work its magic, teasing and stroking until my knees go weak.

Some distant part of me knows I'll probably regret this in the morning, but right now all I care about is the building pleasure that's making me dizzy with need. My fingers tighten in Larry's hair, urging him on, and he chuckles against my slick flesh, the vibration sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through my body.

I'm close, so close, and when his hands slide around to squeeze my backside, tipping my hips up for better access, I shatter with a cry that's equal parts frustration and ecstasy.

Breathless, I slump back against the wall and peer down to find Larry watching me, lips and chin glistening, eyes dark with hunger. And despite the incredible orgasm, a new ache begins to build inside me. An ache that won't be satisfied until I've wiped that smug look off his face once and for all.

My gaze drops pointedly to his crotch and I raise a challenging brow. "Your turn."

He grins, slow and predatory, as he rises to his feet. "Is that how it is, darling? I give you what you want, and now you think you can demand the same of me?"

His fingers trace a leisurely path up my inner thigh, and I fight back a shiver of mingled desire and annoyance. Trust Larry to turn even this into some kind of power play.

"It's only fair," I retort, trying to ignore the way his touch is reigniting the fire in my veins. "Or are you only interested in taking your pleasure and leaving me wanting?"

"On the contrary, your pleasure is my pleasure. I simply prefer to give it on my own terms." His hand cups me briefly, a fleeting pressure that makes me ache for more. "When you've learned patience, perhaps I'll give you another taste of what you clearly can't get enough of."

I scoff, even as heat floods my cheeks. "Keep dreaming. You're going to have to work a lot harder than that if you expect me to come begging for your favors."

"Is that a challenge?" His eyes flash with competitiveness, and suddenly I find myself pinned against the wall, his hard length pressed insistently against my hip. "Because you should know by now that I never back down from a challenge. Especially one as tempting as this."

My breath catches at the desire in his gaze, the unspoken promise of pleasure and torment in equal measure. I know I should push him away, make it clear I won't be manipulated so easily into another encounter like this. But the truth is, I want him just as badly as he wants me.

And we've always loved a good fight.

His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and demanding. I meet him with equal fervor, our tongues tangling in a battle for dominance as my hands roam across the planes of his chest. He groans when I tweak a nipple, the sound vibrating against my lips.

"Still think you can resist me?" he rasps, dragging his mouth to my neck and nipping at the sensitive skin.

I gasp, tilting my head to give him better access. "You'll have to do better than that."

He growls and spins me around, bending me over the back of the sofa. The smack of his hand against my rear makes me cry out in surprise, the sting quickly fading into heat. "Careful what you wish for, wild child."

My heartbeat thrums wildly, caught between apprehension and arousal. I've unleashed the beast inside him, and now there's no telling how rough he'll play.

The sound of a zipper sliding open, foil crinkling. "Since you want to play so badly..."

I clench in anticipation, ready to feel the delicious burn of him entering me. But instead of his cock, something cold and slippery probes between my folds, circling my entrance in a maddening tease. I squirm against the sofa, trying to gain more friction, but he holds me in place with his other hand.

"Getting impatient?" Amusement laces his voice as he continues his ministrations, slick fingers sliding over every inch of my sex but never quite pushing in. "Not yet, sweetheart. I'm going to make you beg for it."

I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Two can play at this game.

When his fingers brush my clit, I moan loudly, rocking back to increase the pressure. He chuckles, withdrawing completely and leaving me empty. I whimper at the loss, hating how much power he wields over me.

A sharp smack on my rear. "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."

Bastard. I swallow my pride, pushing past the embarrassment heating my cheeks. "Please..."

Another hit, harder this time. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me!" The words burst out of me in a desperate cry. All pretense of resistance flees, replaced by a ravenous need to feel him inside me. To be filled and claimed and taken until I can no longer think or breathe. Somewhere above me I hear the crinkle of a wrapper dropping to the ground.

"That's my girl." His hands grip my hips, and with one hard thrust he's sheathed to the hilt within me.

We moan in unison, a perfect harmony of pleasure and pain. He gives me no time to adjust, setting a brutal pace that leaves me gasping. His fingers dig into my flesh, pulling me back to meet each savage stroke. The coil of heat in my belly tightens with every snap of his hips, driving me higher and higher.

Through the haze of sensations, I'm dimly aware of the litany of filth spilling from his lips. Degrading, possessive, toe-curlingly erotic. Marking me as his in words as he does with his body.

The crest looms, and I tumble over with a broken cry. His thrusts grow erratic, chasing his own release. With a guttural groan, he shudders against me, his warmth flooding my depths.

We collapse in a tangle of limbs, harsh breaths mingling as we descend from the heights of passion. No words are needed in this moment. The only language that matters is written in touches and sweat-soaked bodies. And in this, we have spoken volumes.

When the storm has passed and left us shipwrecked in its wake, we lie in a tangle of limbs on the couch that’s too small to contain the magnitude of what just happened.

I'm trying to catch my breath, trying to make sense of the jumble of emotions that whirl inside me. My heart still hammers with the aftermath of our clash turned carnal, and I glance over at Lawrence. He's looking at the ceiling, his face unreadable, but I see the rise and fall of his chest slow to a more natural rhythm.

"Larry?" My voice sounds small in the vastness that grows between us.

He doesn't answer, just stands and strides toward his discarded clothes. I watch, stunned, as he pulls on his shirt with swift, jerky movements. Each button he fastens feels like a door closing, locking me out.

"Hey," I say, scrambling to sit up, clutching a blanket to my chest. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." His tone is clipped, the single word slicing through the air.

"Nothing? You're bailing on me without a single word, and that's nothing?" Frustration flares up inside me, hot and bitter.

"Willow," he begins but then stops, raking a hand through his red hair. He looks away, and I can see the walls coming up, the shutters sliding back into place over those hazel eyes.

"Talk to me!" I demand, my voice rising. But he doesn't. He keeps moving, keeps dressing until he's all sharp lines and tailored edges again. Lawrence Sinclair, untouchable.

"Fine." I toss the blanket aside and stand too, feeling suddenly exposed. "Just walk away then."

He hesitates, his back a rigid barrier. For a heartbeat, I think he might turn, might offer some scrap of explanation. But then the moment passes, and he's gone, leaving a hollow silence behind.

"Damn you, Larry," I whisper to the empty room, to the shadows that seem darker now, more menacing. The pain of his abrupt departure digs deep, twisting into places I didn't know could hurt.

I'm left standing there, abandoned, the doubts creeping in with the chill of the Hollow’s morning air. What am I even doing? Playing house, playing lovers with a man who's as much an enigma as the murky depths of Greenwood Hollow.

"Is this all just a game to you?" I murmur to no one, to the ghost of his presence that still lingers. Our arrangement, the pretend affection, it's all a farce - and yet, for a moment, it felt real.

But real doesn't just up and leave without a backward glance. Real stays. It fights. It explains.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces of whatever we just broke.