“What is it?” she asks warily.
“I’m not a tit man.”
“You’re not?” Her voice is the barest whisper, and I get this sudden mental image of her lying in my bed naked, whispering to me. Begging me to touch her.
My dick stirs. It always chooses inappropriate moments to act up, swear to fucking God.
“No. I’m more of a leg man.” I take a step forward, so close to her, the hem of her skirt brushes against my legs. I press my hand on the brick wall behind her, resting it beside her head, caging her in. “And you’ve got nice legs, future wife.”
The nickname slips from my lips as if I have no control over it. Because I don’t want this woman to become my wife.
No fucking way.
Her expression darkens. “I take it back. I definitely don’t want to marry you.”
“Aw, really?” I rest my other hand against my chest. “I’m devastated.”
“You’re also definitely an asshole.” She tries to shove past me, but I don’t budge. She even reaches out and presses her hands against—of all places—my stomach.
Her fingers sear right through the thin fabric of my shirt, making my muscles contract beneath her touch. Despite her haughty attitude and her…quirky interests, my body is attracted to her.
Mentally though? I’m thinking it’s a no.
“I’m the asshole who you need to work with right now if you want to get away from your parents,” I remind her, my voice lowering. “You play nice, I’ll play nice.”
She removes her hands from my stomach. “And if I don’t, then what? You’ll call off the wedding and I’ll become the biggest disappointment to my father all over again?”
What is she talking about? And how bad can this guy be, that she’s willing to make such a drastic change in her life to get away from him?
“I’m not marrying you just to help you get away from your father. You’re not my problem,” I say, realizing that I do indeed, sound like an asshole.
I sort of don’t care. All the earlier niceties between us have been tossed to the wayside. I’m letting my real self shine through.
Fuck it.
“Maybe you won’t have to marry me. Or we could annul it quickly, I don’t know. Just—if we can figure out a way to get me out of the house before the wedding, then I can make my escape. I’ll run away from you, not him.” She actually smiles. “That’s not a bad idea, is it?”
“What are you suggesting? We live together before the wedding?”
“Maybe.” She shrugs.
“No way.” I shake my head. I like my freedom. I don’t need some strange woman living with me, asking me where I’m going or what I’m doing.
Forget it.
“It’ll be temporary,” she says. “Just for a little while. Nothing will really change.”
“We’ll have to move.Everythingwill change. For me and for you,” I say.
“Our location is the only thing that we’ll be switching up,” she says, her voice light. Like this is no big deal.
“We’ll need separate bedrooms,” I tell her. “Separate everything. I’m not interested in you like that.”
Lies. All lies. I’d fuck her all night long if she’d let me.
But then I’d have to look into her eyes the next day. And the next day after that. So…
Nah.