Say I Do (Wilde Ways #10) - Cynthia Eden Page 0,10
swung open the door.
Chapter Three
“You are right on time.” Dex gripped the door with one hand. “I’ve got to say, punctuality in a partner is a plus.”
In response, she glowered. He doubted that Lacey would like to be told that glowers were cute on her. But they were. Come to think of it, though, she pretty much always looked good to him.
She’d pulled her hair back in a messy bun, and loose tendrils escaped to tease her cheekbones. She wore jeans, black boots that rose to her knees, and a long, flowing red sweater.
“You’re dressed for the cold. Guess that means we’re ready to roll.” He nodded. “Excellent. We can head downstairs. I’ll have my driver take us to the airport—”
“I have not said that I’m agreeing to this situation yet.”
“Lacey…” He drew her name out. He liked her name. It was sexy. Just like she was. Fit her to a T. “You’re here with a suitcase at your side. Of course, you’re agreeing.” Why waste time pretending otherwise?
She huffed out a breath. Her glower became more ferocious. Even cuter. And those deep, dark eyes of hers darted to—
“What happened?” She was peering at his bruised knuckles as he gripped the wood of the door. “Did you hit your hand on something?”
Something. Someone. “Yes. A few times. No worries. I’m good.” He dropped said hand and backed up. “Come on in. You obviously want to talk before we hit the road, and I have hot chocolate waiting for you.”
“Wait!”
He didn’t wait. He went inside because he was utterly certain she’d follow him. Sure enough, she did. The door clicked closed a moment later. He sat on the sofa. Motioned to the waiting hot chocolate that sat on a nearby delivery cart.
Her luggage bumped into the edge of the sofa as she studied the whole scene with suspicion. “How do you know I like hot chocolate?”
Dex let out a long-suffering sigh. “Because I am the all-knowing—”
“Don’t say that to me again.” She plunked down next to him. Her thigh brushed his leg, and he tensed at the contact. “You had me investigated, didn’t you?” Lacey reached for the mug of hot chocolate. Whipped cream covered the top of the liquid, and caramel and chocolate syrup had been skillfully layered in an artistic design on the fluffy cream. She took a sip and moaned.
His brows shot up. That was certainly a fun new sound from her.
“Heaven,” she declared and sipped again. “Okay, I know what you did. You had one of your techie agents dig into my life. That’s how you know I like hot chocolate.” She angled toward him. “That’s also how you knew about my parents. I bet you dug into my financials, didn’t you? Found a record of where I’d paid the PI? I think there are laws about that kind of intrusive search.”
He leaned toward her. His eyes were on her mouth. His hand lifted, and his thumb slid slowly, sensually, over her lower lip.
He was close enough to see the widening of her pupils.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Her breath caught.
“You had a little whipped cream on your lower lip.” A sight that had been tempting as all hell. He brought his thumb to his lip. Sucked away the whipped cream.
She watched him with her deep, dark eyes.
“You’re right,” he growled. “Heaven.” But he was talking about how she tasted.
She looked back at the hot chocolate. Back at him. Then— “No.”
“No, what? No, you don’t like the hot chocolate? Because judging by your moan, you—”
“I meant…no. No, I am not sleeping with you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not.”
“Noted.”
“I get that you want me to pretend to be your fiancée, but that’s all this is, got it? Pretend. When we’re alone, you’re not crawling into my bed.” Her cheeks had flushed. The flush made her even more beautiful.
“For the record,” he murmured, “I feel compelled to point out that I don’t generally crawl into a woman’s bed. Not my style. First, I’m invited. Very eagerly invited.”
She snorted.
His lips wanted to curl. Because even that snort of hers—
No. Stay focused. “I’m eagerly invited,” he continued blandly, knowing the role he had to play. He was always playing a role. With everyone. Everyday. Sometimes, the deal got old, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. He’d given up the luxury of being his true self long ago. “And after I get my invitation, I don’t crawl.” Hardly. “Sometimes, I pounce. Sometimes, I jump, and sometimes, well, I just wreck the bed because the