Another more-insistent knock came. “Okay, okay.” She glared at the empty canvas one more time before crossing the room, grabbing the doorknob, and pulling the door open. “Keep your pants…”
Icy shock froze Sienna. Her words died in her throat. Her mouth turned to dust.
Oh God.
The tall man with impossibly broad shoulders and thick black hair on her doorstep smiled, eyes sharp. “On?”
“What are you doing here?”
James Dyson, ruthless billionaire, media mogul, Time Australia’s Businessman of the Year, and the last man Sienna ever wanted to see again, slid his hands into his hip pockets. The firm muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed under his tailored designer suit, and Sienna’s pulse leaped away on a little excited masochistic trip at the sight. Stupid pulse. “I’m here to see you, Ms. Roberts.”
She raised her eyebrows, ignoring her gallivanting pulse. Getting excited over James Dyson was foolish. Getting excited over him again was just plain idiocy. “Is that right?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, staring him down. “If I remember correctly, only six months ago you told me never to come near or speak to a member of the Dyson family again. You seem to be breaking your own commandment.”
Dark, dark brown eyes studied her, and then James shrugged. “A man can change his mind.”
“The Dyson men don’t change their minds.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re famous for it.”
An evil dimple appeared in his left cheek. “There are other…things…we’re famous for, Sienna. Don’t you want to find out what they are?”
His voice played with her senses, smooth and tantalizing like whiskey and honey. Swallowing a sudden flush of hot excitement, she met his dark stare.
The first time they’d been this close, he’d offered to buy her a drink. They’d flirted—her with an unschooled hesitancy, him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Only when he’d found out who she was—twenty minutes into their playful and very mutual romantic advances—did their flirtation end.
The last time they’d been this close, he’d refused her entry to his brother’s funeral, his eyes unreadable, his jaw clenched, his words cutting and cruel.
He was the embodiment of everything she despised—money, power, greed. Getting excited in his presence was not only insane, it was admitting to the Devil her soul was up for grabs. “What I want, Mr. Dyson, is for you to leave. I’m expecting someone.”
A thick black eyebrow cocked. “Is he running late?”
“No. She isn’t.”
He ran his gaze over her body from head to toe in a languid inspection, taking in her old cropped tank top, paint-splattered boy-leg panties, and bare feet. Heat flushed through her cheeks at the realization she’d answered the door in her underwear, thinking the person on the other side was Carrie. It didn’t help that she remembered without any problem the compliment he’d paid her about her free-spirited nature to clothing during that first meeting. “I see,” he said. “Kinky.”
Heavy innuendo threaded through the word. Her temper flared again. “No, you don’t see. She is my best friend. Not that I have to explain my actions to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She flicked a pointed look over his shoulder at the street behind him.
A lazy grin pulled at James’s lips, and he stepped inside, reaching for the door and swinging it shut without removing his stare from her face.
“What are you doing?”
He closed the distance between them with a single stride, dominating the space around her. “Changing my mind.”
“About what?”
“At this very moment, the state of my trousers.”
“Your trousers?”
A slow grin stretched lips that more than once had featured in her deluded, idiotic fantasies. “I’m reconsidering keeping them on. If I recall correctly, we once decided undressing each other would be a fabulous idea.”
“Are you kidding?” She planted her hands on her hips. “That was before we knew who each other was. When we thought we were…”
She trailed off, her heart racing.
Were what? Possible one-night stands? Potential lovers?