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“Well, hello to you too, Cranky,” I say.
He growls at me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I just got home. Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what, Mila?”
I stroll up the sidewalk toward his townhouse. It’s nice. The lawn is the size of a postcard—not that I’m surprised. But it’s landscaped and beautiful, with actual rosebushes.
“Just things,” I tease in a singsong voice.
He growls at me again and then laughs. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a fucking brat?” He can’t hide the affection in his voice. “You’re lucky I’m not there right now, or you’d be paying for it.”
“Oh, yeah? And what would you do about, Mister Gregory?”
“Mila.” The warning in his tone sets my panties on fire. God, I love this man. I love pissing him off. I love the way he burns when I do it. I love the way he gets so fucking hot when I call him that. I love everything about him. “I’d have you on your knees choking on my fucking cock,” he growls. “All nine inches shoved down your pretty little throat until you couldn’t breathe.”
I stumble on the sidewalk, nearly running into a poky bush. Damn. Now he’s speaking my language.
“Is that right?” I breathe.
“You know it is, baby.”
“Hey, Roman? Open the door and prove it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Open the door and prove it.” I lean back against a post on the front porch, one hip cocked to the side, a smirk on my face, knowing damn well I’m asking for trouble.
“Mila, are you—? Jesus, baby. You better not be fucking with me,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “You better be outside or I’m going to fucking drive to Santa Cruz just to spank your ass for giving a dying man hope.”
“Just open the door, Roman.”
A second later, I hear his footsteps pounding through the house.
I bite my lip, fighting not to laugh as my stomach turns flips. If I ever needed proof that this man is crazy about me, he just gave it to me.
Locks turn, and then he practically rips the mahogany door off the hinges in his haste to get it open. His wild hazel eyes meet mine. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, all those gorgeous tattoos on display.
His phone crashes to the ground at his feet.
“Hi, handsome.”
I squeal as he lifts me off my feet, crushing me against his hard chest. His mouth comes down on mine, his kiss scorching. He tastes like mint and man, so damn intoxicating.
Frantic with need, he stumbles backward with me in his arms, his towel slipping precariously in his haste.
The door slams shut behind us, shutting out the world.
His towels falls forgotten on the floor as he presses me back against the door with a force that knocks my breath out. His chest, hard and warm against mine, shudders with urgency when I wrap my hand around his length, all too eager to have my hands on him again.
He kisses me like I'm his lifeline, pouring all his bottled-up emotions into it. His hand travels down my body, tracing the curve of my waist before he grips my ass hard, making me gasp into his mouth.
He chuckles, a low rumble vibrating between us.
