“That’s…different. He’s just passing his control of me over to you.” Her gaze meets mine briefly before she looks away again.
That sounds all kinds of fucked up. Something’s not right in the Lancaster house. “So you actually want to marry me.”
She shrugs, keeping her head averted. “Would it be such a chore?”
It would be a big-ass mess. I’ve changed my life enough to suit my mother’s wants and needs. Why should I let her pick out my future wife too? Of course I want her approval.
But I don’t want her organizing my entire damn life.
“This won’t work,” I say, not giving her anything to argue with. “You’ll need to figure out another option to get away from your father. That’s not on me.”
I feel like a dick the moment the words leave my mouth, and it’s my turn to not look her directly in the eyes. My gaze drops, lingering on her sexy-ass legs.
Nope. They’re not enough to tempt me to marry her.
“I don’t think you understand just how powerful my family is. A Lancaster always gets what they want. You don’t have a choice in the matter when it comes to us getting married, especially if I want it too.”
She makes her statement with a steely determination that comes out of nowhere. Looks like she has more of a backbone than I thought.
“Are you for real right now?” My gaze returns to her face, noting the anger that’s rolling off of her in palpable waves. The girl is pissed.
I really don’t care. Her family problems aren’t going to become my own.
She launches into some speech about the Lancasters and how no one crosses them but I’m not listening. Too busy checking out her legs yet again. How long and smooth they are, with the tiniest hint of shine to her skin. Like they’re covered in lotion.
My fingers literally itch to touch them. Just once. Just to see if they’re as smooth as they look.
Her voice drifts and her mood shifts, just like that. “Hey. Eyes up here, asshole.”
My gaze snaps back to hers. She looks furious, those clear blue eyes of hers blazing at me as if I’m the most offensive man on this planet. “Did you just call me an asshole?”
She lifts her chin, her lips formed in an almost delectable pout. “I did. You don’t need to gawk at me like some sort of pervert.”
“I’m the pervert who you want to be your husband,” I remind her, my voice going firm.
“Right, and I thought this wasn’t going to work,” she taunts.
I hate it when people throw my words back in my face.
“What’s your problem?” I slip my hands into my pockets, preventing myself from grabbing for her again. That I’m even tempted after she called me an asshole and a pervert is…
Disconcerting.
A brittle laugh escapes her. “You are. You’re my problem.”
Great. Now she suddenly hates me. All because I stared at her sexy legs a second too long.
What gives?
Deciding I’m not holding back, I give her a taste of her own medicine.
“And you’re a prude. Who cares if I was staring at your legs? At least I wasn’t looking at your tits,” I tell her.
“My tits?” Her brows shoot straight up and I tell myself to back down.
But damn, it was kind of hot, hearing that richly cultured voice of hers say the wordtits.
“Yeah.” I edge closer, giving her no choice but to step back. She can’t go very far, considering the restaurant building is directly behind her. “Your tits. It’s perfectly appropriate for us to talk like this, considering we’re engaged. Though I do have a confession to make.”