Page 22 of Property of Zombie

“Well, it was either this or nothing, so…”

His lips tip into a grin when I let my words trail off. Dammit. If I had panties on, that grin would melt them for sure.

With zero fucks given, he lifts his hips off the cushion and adjusts the growing bulge behind the fly of his jeans. “I could be persuaded to wait while you… change.”

I swallow, but it’s almost impossible with how dry my mouth is. “Not happening,” I quip.

“Pity.” Zombie stretches his arm across the back of the sofa like he owns the place. “Why haven’t you called me?”

“What?”

“I gave you my number, and you have yet to use it. Why?”

Before I can answer, his cell pings, and he pulls it from his pocket to look at the screen. He chuckles as he taps out a quick response to whoever texted him, and then returns his full attention to me.

“Who was that?” I ask, and I mentally wince when I realize that the question makes me sound like a jealous girlfriend and not a virtual stranger.

“A friend,” he replies. “Answer my question.”

Huffing out a breath, I cross the room and sit in the overstuffed chair. I curl my legs beneath me. “Not until you answer mine.”

Zombie nods. “Fine. I found your address online. It’s pretty easy to track someone down these days, what with technology and shit.”

Makes sense.

“Okay. And you’re here because…”

He shrugs. “I’m itching for a repeat of the lion’s den.”

“Bullshit,” I blurt.

“Bullshit?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yes, bullshit.”

His face lights up. “I like this feisty side of you, Lucy. I fucking like it a lot.” When I make no effort to engage, he sighs. “I’m here because we need to talk. As much as I’d love to throw my reasons out the window and fuck you against every surface, I can’t. Business first, pleasure later.”

“If you want to talk business, you can make an appointment to see me at my office.”

Zombie shakes his head. “That doesn’t work for me.”

“I don’t give a shit what works for you,” I snap. “It’s the middle of the night, I’m tired, and I’m practically naked.” Standing, I stride toward the door and pull it open. “Goodbye. Zombie.”

Without a word, he rises to his feet and closes the distance between us, stopping mere inches from me. His expression is hard as he pushes the door closed and flips the lock.

“What are you d⁠—”

“I’m not leaving, babydoll.”

“My name is Lucy,” I remind him with an air of authority.

“I know.”

I bristle. “Or better yet, you can call me Dr. Thomas.”

“I don’t think so.” He reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re gorgeous when you’re all mad and shit?”

How the hell am I supposed to react to that? This man has my mind racing from one extreme to another. Why is he here? What business could he possibly have with me? And why does he make me not give a damn what the answers are and want to demand he give me another orgasm?