“Rhett,” I scold, heat burning over my chest at how pushy he’s being. “I’m not doing that. We’re not doing that.”
He smirks now, cocky prick he is. “Why? You worried you won’t be able to resist me?”
My jaw drops. “Rude. And no. I’m more worried I might accidentally hold a pillow over your smug, pretty face until you stop breathing. I have a sweatsuit. I’ll dress warm. I’ll be fine.”
He turns, and in a few strides he flips the top half of my suitcase closed, and I stand frowning at him as he zips my bag shut.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“All I heard was that you think I have a pretty face,” he says as he marches past me, rolling my suitcase behind himself.
“Of course, you missed the part about me wanting to kill you.”
When he gets to the door, he waves a hand over his shoulder and pushes out into the hallway. “Keep up, Princess. Kill me, don’t kill me. At least you’ll be warm. You’re with me tonight.”