“Humiliate you, how? By telling you how much I want you, even now, even after you walked out on me?”

“But you don’t want me, you just want to have sex with me.”

“That’s right. You don’t believe you’re attached to your body, or that your body is part of you. Instead it’s a separate entity, which makes me think of a headless chicken—”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Then stop jumping to conclusions. Just because I like your body, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the rest of you.”

“Humph!”

His eyebrows shot up, his expression mocking. “Is that the best you can do?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin jerking up. “I get nowhere arguing with you.”

“Very wise. Much better to just dispense with the clothing and let me have what I want.” He paused, and his gaze moved slowly, suggestively over her. “And what I know you want, too. Not that you’ll admit it.”

Her chin lifted another notch. “And what do I want?”

“Satisfying sex without pushing the limits too far.”

Dark pink color stormed her cheeks. “Without pushing the limits at all.”

The corners of his mouth curled. So she did want sex. Just nice-girl sex … sweet, safe missionary-position sex. His cock throbbed at the thought. He’d like some sweet, safe-missionary sex as well. “I’ll see what I can do. But first, I’d like to see you. But I’m getting bored by all the discussion. Either we’re going to do this, or we’re not—”

“Your shirt first.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want to do this? Then we’ll do this. But you’re not the boss and I’m not taking orders.” Her tone was defiant and her eyes flashed and she’d never been angry before when they’d played these games. She’d been shy and nervous, but also eager to please. She wasn’t eager to please now. “You don’t get to have all the power anymore.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not your servant or slave—”

“Which is good, since I don’t make love with my servants, and I don’t have slaves.”

“The point is, you might be able to bark orders at Bronwyn, but not at me.”

“I had no idea you were so hung up on Bronwyn,” he drawled, liking this new feisty Morgan. She was a very different woman from the one he’d married and that intrigued him.

“I wasn’t hung up on her. You were.”

“Is that how it was?”

“Yes.”

“So are we going to talk about Bronwyn, or are we going to have sweet, safe missionary-position sex?”

Her lips compressed primly. “You’re horrible. You know that, don’t you?”

“Horribly good, and horribly hard, and horribly impatient. Now, are we, or aren’t we?” he asked, sauntering toward her, relaxed, easy, his arms loose at his sides. But it was a deceptive ease, and they both knew it as the temperature in the luxurious bedroom seemed to soar and the air sparked with heat and need, the tension between them thick and hot and electric.