I don’t turn around. “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
I hear him settle into the room. I can feel him looking around, and I busy myself with the mugs and refuse to offer any commentary on what he’s seeing.
“Where’s Ethan?” I ask.
“Living room. He found the couch.”
The sugar jar is empty, so I reach for the unopened package on the top shelf. My fingers brush the edge of it, and I go up onto my toes, stretching.
A hand reaches past me.
His chest presses along my back, warm and solid, one arm bracketing me against the counter while the other reaches over my head with absolutely no effort whatsoever. The smell of him fills my entire sensory field. He sets the sugar down in front of me.
And doesn’t move.
I turn around.
I have to tilt my chin up to look at him from this distance. His eyes are dark and hooded, and he is watching me. Something inside me tenses. It’s not just attraction; it’s something more primal, a sense of knowing that I can’t understand.
I put both hands flat on his chest and push.
At first he doesn’t move, and then he reluctantly steps back.
“Thanks for that.” I pretend to be unaffected although I’m sure he can see the way my cheeks are a bright red. “You can sit down now.”
He settles down at the kitchen table, and I put the chipped coffee mug before him. I don’t sit down, choosing to keep some distance between us and leaning against the kitchen counter as I put two teaspoons of sugar in my coffee and stir it.
“If I’m going to work for your team, I need you to stop.” I could ignore this entire situation, but I need to say it, need to have it out in the open so that he understands.
“Stop what?” He raises a brow before taking a sip of his coffee.
“What you’re doing.” I meet his gaze squarely. “We agreed I’d help with Ethan sometimes. And I’m genuinely glad for this job. It’s going to make a real difference, and I know that. But I’m not going to be another name on your list.”
He narrows his eyes. “My list.”
“I looked you up, Grayson. With how much you go on about yourself, I had to.” I hold his gaze. “You have quite the tabloid presence. A new woman every other week, your flavors of the week, as you call them.” I keep my voice steady. “I’m not going to be one of them. If you’re bored, there are plenty of women in this city who’d happily entertain you. I’m not one of them.”
He stares at me for a long moment. “You believe what the tabloids write about me.”
“I didn’t say I believed it. I said I’m not interested in finding out.”
“I’m not a manwhore, Miranda.” His voice is flat.
“You said it, not me.”
He frowns. “I have a son. Do you have any idea how exhausting Ethan is? Do you genuinely think I have the time or the energy to go around town chasing women?”
“I don’t actually care what you get up to,” I say. “My point is simple. It’s not going to be here.”
“So the next time I try to kiss you—”
“I’ve already told you. I’ll kick you somewhere that won’t heal as fast as the rest of you does.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “I suspect you know what I mean.”
His mouth opens. And then a very small voice drifts in from the living room.
“Miranda?”
