Page 26 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“What makes you think I don’t want you here?” At the moment, he wanted her everywhere. Under him, over him, against the wall, in his bed—

“Please.” She laughed, the sound rippling around the room and rocketing another bolt of lust to his groin. “I’ve known what you were up to since day one. You’ve been trying to make me so miserable I’d have no choice but to leave.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle. Prancing around half naked. Blasting Puccini in the wee hours. Leaving the toilet seat up.”

“In my defense, the toilet seat wasn’t intentional. And you haven’t been easy to live with, either. Rearranging the furniture. Yoga at the crack of dawn.”

“How about we call it a draw?” She stuck her hand out, offering it to him. “Truce?”

He stared at her slender, manicured fingers for a long moment before taking her hand in his. There was no point in battling any more. The war was already lost. He’d lost it when he spied her doing yoga with the damn pig, in her skimpy sports bra and skin-tight shorts. Or maybe it was when she first walked through the door.

“Truce.”

What should have been a perfunctory handshake became an erotic dance of fingers and thumbs. He stroked the back of her hand in slow, small circles, and she shivered. Almost without thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he pulled her in, drawing her closer. Her lips parted as he brought his head down to hers, and he’d be damned if he was going to pass up that invitation.

“What are you doing to me?” he muttered, the words spilling out of him like a spontaneous laugh he had no control over.

Her tongue stole out to moisten her lower lip. “I hope it’s the same thing you’re doing to me.”

That was it. He was only human. No mortal man could be expected to resist the gift she was offering so sweetly, so willingly. A noise came out of him that he couldn’t quite identify—something like a groan mixed with a sigh, with a hint of a triumphant growl thrown in for good measure—and he surrendered to the need to kiss her. Time seemed to stop as mouths melded, tongues tangled, and hands explored.

He’d kissed women since Nicole. He was a man, not a monk. Some of them had been more worldly than Zoe. Some more experienced, more confident. But none more desirable than this funny, feisty, frustrating-as-hell woman he was seconds away from taking on the tile floor.

Zoe moaned into his mouth, and he framed her head with his hands, angling it so he could deepen the kiss. She tasted wild and intoxicating, like a fine, full-bodied wine or rich, dark chocolate.

Delicious, but dangerous.

From the other side of the room, the pig squealed, giving Dante the excuse he needed to break off the kiss before things got even more heated.

“Wow.” Zoe touched a finger to her kiss-swollen lips. “That’s some way to declare a truce.”

He wiped the back of one hand across his mouth, not because he didn’t want to savor her unique, unforgettable flavor on his lips but because the urge to let it linger was overwhelming and unnerving. His hand shook, and his dick, which hadn’t gotten the put-on-the-brakes message, ached.

“Maybe it would be best if I went into town alone.”

He stood and spotted Houdini, nestled in Zoe’s suitcase among her lacy bras and frilly underwear. He plucked him from the pile of clothes, silently imploring his brain to ignore the way the lace and silk scratched and slid against his fingertips, and thrust him out to Zoe.

“Alone?” she echoed, rising to take the pig from him.

“I can shop faster that way. And you can stay here and keep an eye on your new pet. Give me a list. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Oh.” Her face fell, and the light in her eyes dimmed until it disappeared, his choice of “you” and “your” instead of “we” and “our” clearly not lost on her.

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, as if that would wash away the guilt that was swamping him. He was behaving like a real bastard. Cold. Cruel. Heartless. But better to hurt her—and himself—a little now than a lot later.

“Make a list,” he repeated, almost sprinting for the door. If he stayed much longer, his resolve would weaken, and he’d give in to the little devil on his shoulder telling him to pin her against the wall and find out what lust-inducing underthings she was hiding under her ridiculously oversize sweatshirt and body-hugging spandex shorts. “And meet me downstairs in five minutes.”

He’d keep his promise to help her get the pig settled in.

And then he’d do his best to keep his distance.

…

Zoe flopped down on the massive canopy bed in her new room, her body exhausted but her mind reeling from the day’s events.

She’d adopted a pig. And kissed her roommate.