Had she always sounded like that, or was he just getting more desperate the longer he denied himself the thrill of taking her and making her his?

“You broke into my house.”

She shrugged. Then her hand connected with his chest, and her fingers played with the lapels of his robe. Before she could slip her hand onto his naked skin, he grasped it and imprisoned it in his palm.

“Stop that.”

No, do it, he wanted to howl.

Her other hand came up too fast for him to react and pushed the robe apart so her fingers connected with his hairless chest. Her touch burned like the fires of hell, so tempting, so tantalizing, yet so forbidden. Maybe only for a second he could allow himself to soak in her essence, to allow her enthralling scent to permeate his body.

“I want you,” she murmured and pressed her lips against his skin.

Her lips moved, sliding along his heated body, moving upwards to his neck. He tilted his head, unable to resist the pleasure she was offering. Excitement coursed through him when she pulled his skin between her lips and suckled.

His hands grabbed her backside and hauled her against his thick erection.

“Bite me,” he demanded, his voice hoarse.

Portia’s head jerked up, her eyes looking at him, stunned.

“Yes,” he said, louder now, “that’s what it would be like. We’d be like animals, wild, no holds barred. That’s what being with me would be like.” He released her and stepped back. “Admit it: you’re not ready for that. All you want is some nice tame lovemaking. I can’t give you that.”

“That’s not true. I want … more.”

He shook his head. “Go home, baby girl.” Then something hit him. “Where’s Oliver?”

“I escaped him.”

“How?”

“Mind control.”

“You devious little …” Yet he couldn’t really blame her. Like her, he’d do anything if he wanted something bad enough.

“I didn’t hurt him.”

“He has to pick you up and take you home.” He turned to reach for his cell phone on the dresser, but Portia’s hand clamped over his wrist.

“No!”

“You don’t get to choose.”

“You’re a big bully!”

Zane shrugged. What else was new?

“Zane?” Quinn’s voice was accompanied by a knock on his door.

Shit! He shot Portia a scolding look.

“Is everything all right?”

Zane motioned to Portia and then the bed. She understood and hopped in, putting the covers over her up to the neck, turning her head away from the door.

“Everything’s fine,” he said calmly, as he opened the door halfway so Quinn could see Portia’s long, dark hair but not her face. If he hadn’t opened the door, Quinn would have only become suspicious.

Quinn glanced inside the room. “Hey, I was just worried because of the assassin the other day.” Then he grinned. “Anybody special?”

Zane shook his head. “Just a one-nighter.”

“You can send her over to my room when you’re done with her,” Quinn suggested with a lascivious grin.

In his dreams! “By the time I’m done with her she won’t be able to stand.”

Quinn chuckled. “Lucky bastard.”

Zane slapped him on the shoulder and shut the door. When he turned back to the bed, he saw Portia pushing down the cover and taking off her shoes.

“Stop it right there,” he warned, not wanting her to take any more clothes off. The temptation was big enough when she was fully dressed. If she were naked, he’d have a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping his hands off her.

“What are you gonna do? Scream for help?” she teased.

Zane jumped onto the bed and snatched her arms, holding her down. “You, baby girl, listen to me now. You have a choice: either you behave and I might let you stay until tonight, or I’ll call Oliver right now to pick you up.”

Hell, what was he saying? Letting her stay? To do what? To torture himself for the next few hours by having her close, without being able to touch her? Was he going completely insane?

Portia pursed her lips. “Can you clarify what you mean by ‘behave’?”

“Don’t play your games with me, Portia, I’m warning you.”

“Or you’ll do what?”

Kiss you. Fuck you. Bite you. Those were the words he wanted to say to her, but couldn’t. All he could do was stare at her and lose himself in the green depths of her eyes, wondering what could have been if they’d met under other circumstances, in another time. If he were a different man, one not consumed by hate and revenge, maybe he could even make her happy. But he was who he was.