Passion Rekindled

She marched around the desk to escort him from the room, but Oscar grabbed her wrist. Sylvie jerked back from the shocking heat of his touch, but his fingers only tightened. Years had passed since she last experienced his hands on her, their callous texture indicative of the hours he spent on his boat.

His brown eyes flashed. “Is that really all you care about, Sylvie? Money and more of it?”

“I’m just like you. That’s all you care about. You married me and made off with a lovely settlement. Twenty-seven million dollars, one and a half million for every year of marriage. You did quite well, wouldn’t you say?” Her heart thumped loud and hard against her breastbone.

His jaw went rigid. “I never cared about your money. I cared about you.”

“I do not believe you, and I will never believe another word that comes out of your mouth. You have no idea what love is. What sacrifice is. You left, after eighteen years. End of story.”

“We were fighting night and day—”

“You were fighting with me. I simply wanted—”

“You wanted to tear me down because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. When Anthony died—”

“Don’t you dare talk about my brother!” This time she managed to yank away her arm. “That coward shot him down like an animal, and when she killed herself, she left my nephew an orphan. She was a selfish, evil cow.” More than twenty years later, she still despised the woman who’d stolen her brother so abruptly from her life.

In fact, both of her brothers were dead. Both taken from the earth suddenly and under harsh circumstances. The eldest, Cyrus, died when a drunk driver crashed into his vehicle. Anthony, a gentle musician and her best friend, had been murdered by his wife.

They were both gone. Leaving her alone.

“I can’t talk to you about anything, can I?” Oscar fumed. With a disgusted shake of his head, he marched away.

“Yes, go. Leave. You’re very good at that.”

Back stiffening, he froze halfway to the door. He swung toward her and spoke through thinned, tight lips. “What is the real problem, Sylvie? Is it that I left, or that you couldn’t hold on to me?”

Her neck tightened in outrage. “I never wanted to hold on to you.”

“No? Every time we talk, you bring up the fact that I left. You throw it in my face. Every. Single. Time. It’s been fifteen years. When are you going to let go of the anger and accept our marriage is over?”

“I accept it’s over, and I paid dearly for the privilege of getting you out of my life.”

“Yes, you did, yet you’re still not happy.” He came slowly toward her, eyes narrowed. “Why is that?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That maybe all this animosity stems not from anger but from a different place. That maybe you’re not as indifferent as you like to pretend.”

Sylvie cackled at him, her derisive, high-pitched laughter filling the office. “Oh, Oscar, don’t flatter yourself. Run along to one of your little tarts and fill her head with your foolishness. I’m a grown woman and way too intelligent to fall for your silly reverse psychology games.”

She turned her back, the movement dismissive. But the next thing she knew, she was being twirled around by Oscar’s large hands on her waistline.

Then he kissed her, his mouth landing over hers in a strong kiss.

Shocked, Sylvie stiffened. His hand came up and covered the back of her neck below the thick bun, his clasp warm and firm. The other arm brought her into very close, intimate contact with his hard body, trapping her arms between them.

Shock gave way to pleasure—an overpowering sensation that coursed through her arteries until Sylvie had no choice but to open her mouth beneath Oscar’s. His thumb caressed her cheek, as her hand climbed to his face and moved over the surprisingly soft whiskers on his jaw.

His hand swept up and down the sloped curve of her spine, finally easing down to her bottom. Oscar groaned and squeezed, and she felt the hard ridge of his arousal expand against her abdomen.

Sylvie inhaled sharply as heat pooled between her thighs. But she couldn’t stop kissing him. Her other hand clutched his collar and she kissed him with urgency, heart tearing through her chest at an alarming rate.

When his tongue sought entrance into her mouth, she allowed it, and the kiss became more demanding. Devouring. Oscar didn’t just take command of her mouth. He took command of all of her.

Another groan emerged between them, coming from deep in his chest. A masculine rumble of hunger and a demand for more.

As Sylvie eased her fingers up his nape into his hair, her sharp ears picked up the quiet but definite click of the door as it opened.