Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(22)

I think a minute before deciding. “Let’s play a game. I’ll ask a question. You answer it.”

“That’s not a game. That’s called prying, baby.”

“It’s for a good cause. Stop calling me baby!” I laugh, wondering if he’s doing it to distract me.

He smirks.

“What do you want to know?” He tilts his chin higher, and I almost nick him. He flinches and grunts. “Watch yourself. Baby.”

“Don’t move. Devil.” I check the blade to be sure there isn’t blood on the end. “Favorite color?”

“Black.”

“These questions pertain to fashion.”

“Still black.”

“Pinstripe?”

“What the fuck is that?”

I bite my lip. “What ties do you like?”

“Cartoons.”

“Really?”

“Nah. Just checking if you were paying attention. I don’t wear ties. Don’t wear suits either.”

He doesn’t? Oh god. This is going to be even tougher than I thought. “Never? Okay, well, if you were going to wear one?”

“I like red. Sometimes black and white. I’m not one for flash.”

I smile. “So . . . why did you agree?”

“Easy. Because I want you writhing in bed beneath me.”

I fumble the razor, try to play it off, but catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m red, completely flushed.

I lift my gaze, and a half-shaven James Rowan with a foamy jaw is staring at my mouth.

“What did I tell you about that?” I ask calmly.

“What?” he asks. “I forget.”

“My eyes are up here, Rowan. And you’ll kindly refrain from the come-ons.”

He lifts his gaze, and they gleam mischievously and intelligently. Predator-like. “Can’t help it. Love to see you blush.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Sure you are.”

Of course I am.

“Anyway . . . so why did you agree? For real.” If my hand stopped trembling, maybe I could finish this whole thing?

“I don’t know. Charlie, I guess.”

“And Charlie is your brother?” I can’t help but be curious.

“He’s my everything.”

I blink at that. Shocked by the honesty of his words and gaze.

“He’s all I have,” he adds, gruff and somber.

I ease back, taking a moment to switch sides. “You were punching the guy at the bar because someone hurt Charlie?”

“Yeah. Charlie’s . . . he’s too damn wiry. He don’t like to fight.”

I quietly finish shaving him and drag a damp towel across his jaw. I’m touched by his words and protectiveness over his brother.

“There,” I say, stepping back so James can lift his head and meet my gaze. He slowly comes to a stand. I turn him to the mirror. Our eyes meet in the reflection.

And holy mother of god.

I can barely breathe.

JAMES ROWAN IS . . . IT.

I marvel how I didn’t get cut shaving that jaw. All hard angles, square and mean and masculine. And that perfect little dimple, right in the center of his chin. Yum.

“Smoothly shaven. Now when you want to kiss someone”—I pat his square jaw—“your jaw won’t feel bristly.”

I start to exit my bathroom when he steps forward in a flash, seizing my elbow in his grip as he turns me.

“Want to give it a try?” He smiles amusedly.

“Right!” I roll my eyes, and he laughs at my immediate flush.

He takes a step closer, boxing me in. I swallow, but not because I’m afraid.

Because he nerve-racks the hell out of me.

His voice turns thick, and suddenly his arm is around my waist, and my hand is on his chest. His flat, muscular, warm chest—the definition palpable under the cotton of his T-shirt.

He lifts my chin with his thumb. “You’ve been thinking about me. Haven’t you?”

His gaze blazes so intently that my lungs can’t seem to get enough air.

I nod, breathless.

I lift my hand and run my fingers over his smooth jaw.

“In a business sense, yes. Professionalism is very important to me.”

“And your pleasure is important to me.”

“James. Don’t break the contract on your first day.” I laugh, and he chuckles and buries his face in my neck, his breath tickling me.

“You smell good.”

“Mmm. So do you,” I say, then curse myself the second it’s out. Stop encouraging him.

Even though, yum. He really smells good.

We remain like that for a second, until he uncurls his arms from around me and lets me go.

We’re smiling as we make eye contact.

But the air leaps between us, like electricity.

I need to call Jeanine and get her to talk some sense into me before I do something I’ll regret.

“We need to get your hair cut too. But I leave that to a professional.” My voice is a little thick as I pull out my phone and dial. I hope to get my favorite stylist, Sherry, to pull an emergency makeover. I need to keep him as quiet and under wraps as possible during this transformation period, and I know she will be discreet.