too." She props her hands on her hips, her curvy, deliciously rounded hips, which is one of the first things I’d noticed about her too. She’s so different from the women I normally encounter… Hell, she’s not my type at all. Soft, sassy, perfectly shaped for my hands. My fingers tingle. I will not touch her, will not. I tilt my head. "From where I am, you are…on your way out."
"What?" She blinks. "I am standing right here."
"That can be easily changed."
I take a step forward, and honestly, I’d totally expected her to retreat. To shuffle back, maybe even turn and run out of the house… I should have known better, after how she’d threatened me with that spatula earlier, for she doesn’t move. She stands her ground, so my feet bump hers. I lean into her; she tips her chin up.
I lower my face toward hers, closer, closer. "You can’t win this, Buttercup."
"Buttercup?" She scrunches up her forehead. "Why the hell are you calling me after the Princes Bride?"
"It was after a Powerpuff Girl, actually," I chuckle.
"Powerpuff?" She grimaces.
I nod, "You’re small, annoying, and too headstrong for your own good."
"How do you even know about those cartoons?"
"I may have watched them with my little niece."
"Awww." Her gaze widens; her eyes go all sparkly as fuck. Ah, hell!
My neck heats. "Don’t make it out to be anything more than what it is," I grunt.
"Which is?"
"That I babysit on occasion," I mutter.
"You also babysit?" Her features take on the expression I have seen on the faces of the women who have fallen for some of my friends. Specifically, Jace, Sinner and that mofo Saint. All of them ended up married, and shackled, and buying townhouses, and planning extended honeymoons, and baby showers... Argh! A shiver of trepidation runs up my spine. Shit, no, no, no, I am not going there. These kinds of entanglements, and all the bloody relationship fuck-ups that come with it? Not for me. So not my tumbler of whiskey—you didn’t think I’d say cup of tea, now, would you?
Besides, what the hell am I doing, sharing that piece of information about myself? She’d gotten past my guard, obviously. It’s the only reason I’d let that slip. More to the point, why the hell are we still talking, here in the house I co-own?
The hair on my nape prickles.
"How the hell did you get here?" I frown.
"I drove, of course." She sniffs, "What about you?"
"I was driven here by my chauffeur," I grumble.
"That’s why there’s no car parked outside." She nods. "How do you plan to get around for the time you are here?"
"I don’t."
"Guess you can’t drive with that finger, huh?"
"I can bloody drive, if I want." I scowl, "I choose not to; besides, every time I want to head out, I’ll message my driver."
She opens and shuts her mouth, "Let me get this right. Every time you want to go out, you’ll message your chauffeur who’ll come in from where? London?"
I glare at her, "Don’t be daft. He’s staying in the nearest town. It takes him, maybe, 45 minutes to get here."
"To take you back into the village, and return."
"Umm, yeah." I raise my shoulders, "That’s why he’s called a driver. He drives me around," I snicker.
"I could do that."
"What?"
"Drive you around."
"Why should I want that?"
"Since we are going to be sharing this house—"
"Nope, we're not. I own this place with the rest of the Seven."
"Saint offered it to me for the duration of the holidays." She scowls, "Pretty sure he loaned the space to me first.”
"I am one of the Seven. I take precedence," I declare.
She gapes at me and… Damn… Every time she opens her mouth, I want to shut her up with my tongue, or other parts of me that would very happily nestle into that warmth. Why the fuck does she turn me on, when she’s the type of complication I can do without?
"Out," I snarl.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" She sniffs, "Why can’t we work this out like adults?"
"Like adults, huh?" I smirk. "Trust me, the kind of things I want to do with you right now would definitely be classified as ‘adult.’"
She reddens. "Can’t you speak a sentence without coming across all lecherous?"
"I haven’t even started," I smirk, “and PS, it’s you who can’t take a hint. Do you want me to spell it out for you?"
"You’re a jerk, you know that?"
I yawn. "Get out of the house or I’ll throw you out bodily."
"You wouldn’t."
"Try me."
She raises her