Hard To Handle. Jamie Denton Ann

really did know better. With Nolan, indifference ceased to exist. He’d always made her feel too much. Too much love. Too much anger. Too much passion. Too much pain.

      Damn you.

      When he settled his mouth more firmly over hers and deepened the kiss, she tried to tell herself the only reason she responded, the only viable excuse for slipping her arms around his neck, stemmed from the shock of seeing him again. Clearly she wasn’t capable of thinking straight. Under normal circumstances, she never would’ve dreamed of plastering herself against him.

      But she did and he tugged her even closer. He pulled her into a tailspin of sensation no woman who prided herself on calling the shots would ever dare welcome—or tolerate.

      God help her, it wasn’t nearly enough.

      In one step he had her up against the rough stucco wall, surrounding her with the heat of his body. Flaming, steamy memories flashed through her mind. His hands, his lips, the thick, hard length of him pulsing in her hands, in her mouth, thrusting relentlessly into her until the control she never could maintain with him shattered and she flew apart.

      The insistent ache of desire dampened her. She wanted to recreate those memories with a desperation so fierce it left her as breathless as his hot, wet kiss.

      No. She would not, could not, go there again. Ever. He was her drug of choice, her fix. She’d plummeted to rock bottom once and had barely survived the experience. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d risk that kind of pain again, not when she couldn’t be certain she possessed enough strength to crawl back the next time.

      With every last shred of willpower she could summon, she planted her palms firmly on his chest and shoved him away. “No.” The command sounded as ragged as her breathing—and about as convincing. “This is not going to happen.”

      Not again. Not ever again.

      He took a reluctant step back, jammed his fingers through his hair and stared at her. She found no comfort from the fact he appeared as shaken as her by the heat that had flared up so quickly between them.

      She prayed for numbness. Her body continued to hum defiantly with desire.

      Just one more in a long line of unanswered prayers, she thought cynically. As if she should be surprised.

      “What do you want, Nolan?” she asked him again. Her terse question fell short of rudeness due to the distinct tremor lacing her voice. Her trembling hands didn’t help much, either. “And I want an answer this time.”

      He scrubbed his hand down his face. The wariness in his expression immediately filled her with dread.

      “Nolan?” Her apprehension climbed with each passing silent second. “What? What is it?”

      “When was the last time you were in Mexico?”

      She frowned. Carefully she reached for the half empty glass of soda she’d left on the ledge of the redwood railing. She’d rather have a cigarette. Better yet, a drink.

      “I’ve never been there.” He, on the other hand, had spent the requisite twenty-four hours south of the border, she thought, feeling the bite of old hostility and resentment for what she’d insisted on in the first place.

      She shook her head. Holding him responsible when she’d been the one to demand the fastest method possible to put an end to their marriage was hardly fair or reasonable. “Why?” she asked cautiously.

      “You never filed for a legal name change, either, did you?”

      Icy cold fingers of panic slid around her throat and squeezed, threatening her air supply. “No,” she managed to say in a choked whisper. “There wasn’t any need to. You know that.”

      She’d refused to take his name once they’d married, which had infuriated him. But she’d refused to budge on the issue, so he’d eventually conceded defeat, albeit with massive reluctance. Although he’d never brought the subject up again, he’d made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t happy with her decision to keep her own name. She hadn’t needed some antiquated tradition of assuming her husband’s name to know she was married, but in reality, as long as she kept her own name, she knew she’d never forget who or what she was—a Correlli. Not that she really held an ounce of admiration for her lineage, but she couldn’t allow herself the false sense of security of the Baylor name.

      He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her expectantly…waiting for her to put the pieces together. His eyes held everything she didn’t want to know.

      “Oh, God. We’re not still…”

      No, no, no. Not possible. Life could not be that cruel, could it?

      “Married?” he finished for her.

      She nodded because she didn’t believe herself capable of more than insane babbling.

      A wry grin tipped his mouth. “Next time you hire a lawyer, Mikki, a word of advice—” he bent forward until they were practically nose to nose “—make sure he hasn’t been disbarred first.”