Page 6 of The Rebel Billionaire

But shit, this girl could kiss. I put my hands on her shoulders, thinking to push her back, when her tongue slid across my lower lip and reason flew straight out of mybrain.

Instead, I pulled her closer and sealed my mouth over hers, figuring I'd be too aggressive and scareheroff.

I was wrong. Her mouth matched mine, her tongue stroking, her teeth nipping, sucking my lip inside before diving back intothekiss.

When I hauled her onto my lap, pulling her hips into mine and pinning the hard length of my cock between us, I expected her to back off, not arch into me, pressing those round tits into mychest.

Goddamn.

I was in over my fucking head. Most of my brain was focused on my dick and the lush armful of woman on my lap, but I had just enough good sense torealizethat:

#1 - I didn't know this chick. She could be a total nutcase.Trouble.

#2 - She'd beendrinking.

Whiskey, by the taste of her, and whatever it was, it was the good stuff. For all I knew, she could be wasted. I didn't fuck drunk women. I had one hand up the back of her sweater, my palm splayed over warm silky skin, fingers reaching for the clasp ofherbra.

Soclose.

So close and so fuckingready.

I kept kissing her, well past when I’d decided this had to stop. The taste of her, whiskey and sweet woman, the little noises she was making in her throat, the electric feel of her weight in my lap, and the raw desire inherkiss.

I should have stood up and dumped her on her ass, then run as fast as I could in the otherdirection.

Don't stick your dick incrazy.

The immortal wisdom of my asshole stepfather. No less true, even considering its source. It was one of the only pieces of advice I'd ever takenfromDale.

I'd seen this woman before, felt her eyes on me when I mowed the lawn, and even exchanged a neighborly wave once or twice. Nothing had indicated she'd ever end up here, straddling my lap, her tongue in mymouth.

No, every time I'd seen her, she was buttoned up tight, pearls, expensive suit, and a line between her eyebrows that said she was always stressed. And now, she was drinking and about thirty seconds from getting fucked on her backporch.

It was possible she wasn't crazy, but this was definitely out of character. Whatever was going on with her, I was too smart to jump in the middle of it without doing a little reconfirst.

It almost killed me, but I managed to stand up. When her legs wrapped around my waist, I groaned. So fucking close, and she was so goddamnedsweet.

"Princess," I managed to say, "give me aminutehere."

At the sound of my voice, her legs dropped from my waist and she pulled away. If I hadn't steadied her, she would have fallen right off the porchsteps.

Yep, she might not be drunk, but she definitely wasn'tsober.

Fuck.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd been hoping she was completely clearheaded and just really, really turned on. Looked like it was more complicatedthanthat.

Have I mentioned I didn't docomplicated?

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, straightened her shoulders, and met my eyes with defiance. "Don't call me Princess. My name isCharlie."

"Your name," I said, "is Charlotte Winters. I'm Lucas Jackson." I held out my hand and she took it, her grip firm andbrisk.

"How do you know who I am?" she asked, eyeing me withsuspicion.

After the way she'd jumped me, I was relieved to see she had the good sense to be suspicious. I shrugged. "I checked into you when you bought the house," I said. "Wanted to know who was livingnextdoor."

She returned my shrug and sat back down on the top step. She refilled the glass of whiskey before she spoke again. "I don't go by Charlotte. Everyone calls meCharlie."