Undeniable Demands - Andrea Laurence

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with the mayor doesn’t mean you can bully me.”

      Wade narrowed his green gaze at her, slowly stepping forward until she found herself backed up against the crumbling brick wall of the Hen. With one hand planted on the wall on each side of her, he’d made sure there was nowhere for her to go. Tori straightened her spine and looked defiantly at him as he closed in.

      “I never had any intention of bullying you, Miss Sullivan.”

      Tori tried not to watch the soft curve of his lips as he spoke to her, but he was so close she had little choice. She remembered how she’d once fantasized about kissing those lips. Of course, that was before he turned on her and threw her out of his company on her rear end. The surge of anger doused the old memories, and her gaze met his.

      “What then?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Were you going to take your friend’s suggestion and seduce me? Certainly you’re so masterful in the bedroom that one good romp would change my mind, right?”

      Wade moved a fraction of an inch closer to her. For a moment Tori tensed, thinking he might be leaning in to kiss her. She wanted him to, and she didn’t. She’d probably thoroughly enjoy it and then slap him when it was over. It was hard to think with him this close. He stopped short of touching his lips to hers. She could feel his warm breath on her skin.

      “I’ve never had a woman offer me real estate after sex, but it wouldn’t be the first time one of my lovers felt the need to repay me for a fantastically pleasurable night together.”

      Just the words fantastically pleasurable wrought a hard throb of need. She fought the urge to lean in to him. To discover what it would feel like to have his hard angles pressing into her soft curves. It had been a long time since she’d even let herself think of something like that. Not since things blew up with Ryan. She didn’t trust herself to make the right choices, even with the right kind of man.

      And this was the absolute wrong man to light up her libido. He was too smooth. Too charming and certain of himself. It didn’t matter what he said or did, for every move he made was a strategic one. But that didn’t mean her every move couldn’t be a tactical one, as well. He already believed she could be manipulated through sex, or he never would’ve fired her. Let him think he was getting to her. Let him think he was winning.

      Tori pressed a gentle hand to his chest. Her lips parted in invitation; a ragged breath of arousal escaped from her lungs. It wasn’t hard to play along: she just gave in to her impulses. She could feel his heart racing just as quickly as her own. He was not immune to his own game. They were both playing with fire.

      “What makes you think I want you?” she whispered.

      Granting her silent wish, he leaned in and pressed himself against her. The warmth of his hard body radiated through his clothing. The salty scent of male skin mingled with pine. Wade let his lips graze, nestling touches light as feathers along her jaw to her earlobe. The sensitive hollow of her neck sizzled with a touch that tempted and teased without giving her what she really wanted: his mouth against her skin and his hands beneath her shirt.

      “Oh, you want me,” he whispered confidently into her ear. “Of that I’m certain.” Pulling away and taking all the night’s warmth with him, he met her gaze and smiled widely. “Good night, Miss Sullivan.”

      She watched him stroll confidently down the sidewalk and disappear around the corner. She waited until the night was silent and still before she let the air out of her lungs. That man had managed to build a fire in her she hadn’t expected, especially considering how much she despised him. This was a dangerous game, but if he was trying to seduce her into selling, it would at least be more pleasurable than fighting. Especially when he lost.

      A smile of amusement curled her lips. “Oh, you only think you won this round, Wade Mitchell. But the fun is just beginning.”

      Three

      By the time Wade returned to the farm that night, the lights in the big house were all out except for the front porch and the kitchen. His parents had always been early to bed, early to rise, as most farmers were. Thank goodness for the bunkhouse.

      The renovated barn referred to as “the bunkhouse” had been where all the boys slept and played as kids. The historic Federal-style house that came with the farm was large, but old in style and design, never renovated to have enough bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate an ever-changing herd of boys and Julianne all at once. But none of the boys minded the separation.

      The bunkhouse had been the perfect boys’ retreat, and Julianne spent her fair share of time over there, as well. The entire downstairs was an open living area where they could do their homework, watch television, play video games and Ping-Pong, and roughhouse without breaking anything important. They even had their own mini-kitchen with a refrigerator, microwave and sink. As growing boys they were starving at all hours, and Molly didn’t want them running across the yard to the house in the cold and dark.

      Upstairs were two huge bedrooms and adjoining baths. The rooms had twin beds and a set of bunk beds to accommodate up to six foster boys at one time. In addition to Wade and his brothers, there had been other children who came but didn’t stay long because they went back to their parents or were adopted by relatives. They rarely had an empty bed back then.

      These days there were just the four of them, each having outgrown bunk beds. Molly had redecorated after they all moved out, and each room now had two queen-size beds. Typically the kids all arrived back at the farm at the same time: Christmas Eve. The big house hadn’t gotten any larger in the past decade, so the boys found themselves back in the bunkhouse.

      Since he was the only one there, Wade could stay in the upstairs guest room of the big house. At least until Christmas when the others arrived. But somehow that felt wrong. Instead, he carried Molly’s requested groceries inside the big house, put them away and then locked the back door behind him. He grabbed the rest of his things from the hatch of his SUV and rolled his suitcase over to the bunkhouse.

      Anticipating his move, Molly had left the porch light on, and on the mini-kitchen counter was a slice of lemon pound cake wrapped in cellophane and a note welcoming him home.

      As he read the note he smiled and set the rest of his groceries beside it. He stashed a small case of water, cream cheese, Sumatran coffee beans and a six-pack of his favorite microbrewed dark ale in the fridge. He left the bagels and a bag of pretzels on the counter beside the cake.

      God, it was nice to be home.

      His loft apartment in Tribeca was nice—it should be, considering what he paid for it. But it didn’t feel like home. With its big glass windows and concrete floors, it was a little too modern in design to feel welcoming. It was chic and functional, which is what he thought he liked when he bought it. But it wasn’t until he set foot in this old barn with the battered table-tennis table and ancient two-hundred-pound television that he could truly relax.

      Things hadn’t changed much in the bunkhouse. The futon where he first made out with Anna Chissom was still in the corner. She’d been his first girlfriend, a shy, quiet redhead who kicked off a long string of auburn-haired women in his life. The latest, of course, was giving him the most grief. But he still wished he could pull Victoria down onto the futon and finish what they’d started outside that bar.

      He’d done it intending to get under her skin and punish her for dumping that drink on him. Then he found he liked touching her. Teasing her. He enjoyed the flush upon her creamy fair skin. The soft parting of her lips inviting him to kiss her. She responded to him, whether she wanted to or not, exposing her weakness. Now he just had to take advantage of it. There were worse negotiating tactics. Yet she wasn’t the only one suffering. He wanted to feel her mouth against his. And not just so she’d sell him her land.

      Wade flopped back onto the couch and eyed his watch. It was only nine-thirty. He didn’t normally go to bed until well after eleven, especially on the weekends.

      He was tempted to pull out his laptop and get some work done but was interrupted by the faint melody of his phone.

      It

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