Page 14 of The Sweetness of Life

“In a few.” His answer is short, and his impatience for privacy is evident. He wants everyone gone, and very quickly, they all disappear, leaving the two of us alone. I don’t budge, and neither does he.

Raising my chin, I match the inimical energy surrounding him. I’ve dealt with guys worse than him before, and I’m certain he won’t be the last. I’m not easy to push over, and the sooner he realizes this, the better.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I know some would say it’s a defensive move, but really, it’s more out of intolerance. “Why don’t you tell me what your problem is—maybe then you can take the hostility down a notch.”

His eyes narrow at me. “The only problem I have is you,” he says, taking a step closer and invading my personal space. “You being here at my home.” He takes another step, and my arms drop. “You drinking my wine.” Another step. “You breathing my air.”

He’s standing so close I have to tilt my head to look at him. The depth of his voice resonates across my skin, and a tremor runs through me.

“You are such a dick,” I snarl up at him, but it just makes him sway closer to me. I can see a storm brewing in his eyes as the blue shifts between irritation and distaste, but all is overpowered by something else—something else that’s pulling us together like magnets.

A hand lands on my hip. The warmth from it burns through my dress, and slowly, he pushes me back against the custom built-in shelving that houses thousands of bottles of his wine. Individual bottle heads push into my back. They’re cool, and although the temperature of them slowly seeps through the fabric of my dress, the heat from him standing so close sets me on fire.

“Funny.” He pauses and tilts his head to the side. “I’ve never had anyone complain about my dick before.” His voice is rough and deeper than normal.

A sharp intake of air chills my lungs, and I shiver again. His eyes drop to my mouth and stay there. They’ve darkened even more, and his chest begins to lift and fall a little faster.

“You can’t speak to me like that.” My words are breathy, giving away how affected by him I am, which I hate. I hate him. He’s rude, arrogant, and mean.

“I just did.” He licks his lips and sets his free hand next to my head, leaving only inches between us.

“Fine. Really doesn’t surprise me. I’ve known from the first moment I met you that you were an asshole. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” I grit through my teeth.

He smirks. “Keep running your mouth and I’ll show you how big of an asshole I can be.” His breath hits my face. It’s warm and smells like the delicious wines we used for the photographs. My mouth waters. Why does he have to be so incredibly attractive?

“Funny, I’ve never had anyone complain about my mouth before,” I counter. An instant blush bursts across my cheeks and heats my skin.

Oh, God. Did I say that aloud?

His eyes widen and his forearm drops next to me, bringing us so close that when he breathes, his chest presses into mine as it rises and falls. I’ve never hated or wanted anything more. My brain is screaming at me to push him away, but my traitorous body wants to climb into his and stay there indefinitely.

With both hands, I grab hold of my skirt. There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. As tempting as he is to reach out to, I can’t have any slip-ups. There needs to be no misunderstanding about how I feel about him . . . and that I hate him.

His eyes scan my face and find their way back to my mouth. Silence falls between us, and my tongue slips out and wets my bottom lip. He watches the tiny movement, gauging my reaction as he slowly leans forward until his lips are a breath away from mine. Everything about this moment feels forbidden but so damn hot.

His fingers on my hip tighten and then flex. His hand slides around to my lower back and he pulls me into him, connecting us from chest to thigh. Every hard plane of him pushes into me, every single one, but I’ll be damned if I let him know how much I like his body next to mine. I stiffen under his touch to show a bit of defiance instead of melting into him like I so desperately want to do.

Looking up at his ridiculously handsome face, I whisper, “What are you doing?”

His eyes narrow, his lips pinch together, and he sucks in a breath of air through his nose. My heart is beating so hard in my chest, I’m certain he can feel my body vibrating against his.

He swallows and then lets out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, pushing off the wine rack and taking a step backward. His arms drop to his sides, and I shiver but refuse to acknowledge that I miss his body heat.

Seconds tick by as the turmoil in his eyes clears, only to be replaced by the complete loathing he’s carried around with him since I arrived. His hands clench, and his gaze drags over me one more time. If there were an image to define the word repulsed, his face would be it, and this makes me angrier than I have ever been in my whole life.

Who does he think he is?

He’s certainly no one to me. So, why is he trying to make me feel like the dirt on the bottom of his shoe? I’ll never understand.

It’s then that he notices I have my hands clenched into fists and am grasping my skirt so hard my fingers ache. As if sensing that I’d like to take one of these fists and ram it into his stomach, he takes another step back.

“You know how to find your way out.” His voice is coarse, and he gives me one last glare before he turns and stalks out. The only sound is his shoes as they strike the floor and echo off the stone walls. It takes me a few minutes to relax after he leaves, but eventually, I let go of the fabric and wrap my arms around my middle.

What the hell just happened?

Pimento Cheese Dip

SERIOUSLY, WHAT IS happening to me?