Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(9)

“You said that once already.”

“Maybe because it’s true.”

“Or maybe because you react to my touch in a way that excites the fuck out of you?” he asks, not smiling, his gaze intent. “And me.”

Oh god.

And oh god, my dad would kill me if he knew what I was up to.

I shrug away the tequila buzz that has me longing to jump into this man’s lap.

Elizabeth, get a hold of yourself. Remember that you picked this guy up in a sewer. Remember what he is here for, and get this done.

I struggle to regain my composure.

“If I’m going anywhere with you, it’s because we both know where this is heading.” His deep, rough voice is actually a turn-on too. Too bad his words only piss me off.

I stick my chin out and look past the window, hoping we can get to my penthouse soon. “No, actually. I assure you. You have no idea where this is heading.”

He looks at me with that lopsided smile. Oh lordy, that’s cute. Avoid, avoid, avoid. “So, wait . . . you would actually do that, for money?”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“Like . . . prostitute yourself?”

He laughs as if I’m so amusing. “You’re hot. I’d let you have the first one for free.”

I gape at him. “Let’s get one thing straight, James,” I continue.

He’s nodding as if he’s listening, all while he reels me by the arm toward the flat planes of his body, and his lips descend. Shocked, I just sit here, panting as he brushes his lips across mine.

I gasp on contact.

He growls softly. And he tries it again.

Brush. Graze.

OPENING ME . . .

Suddenly I’m tasting him—he tastes of coffee with alcohol, a little metallic from the blood on his mouth, his tongue wet and slick as he flicks my own. He tastes forbidden. Dark. Sexy. He shifts me closer to him. Our mouths parting wider now, tongues licking at each other, over and over, both of us going at it like we need it.

I can feel his hardness pressing into my hip bone as we both taste one another, him groaning, me moaning, acting desperate as if this is the only chance we’ll get.

I try to remind myself this is insane. I don’t know this guy, but I’m kissing him like he’s the only one in the world, grabbing his shoulders, letting him devour my mouth—and do I feel devoured!

His tongue caresses mine, creating an intense wave of pleasure through me. No man has ever made a kiss make me want in this way, make me crave with desperation and mindlessness. My sex aches and clutches. The void has never felt this empty, this painful.

When we pull away, I’m gasping, and the guy growls and pulls me back to him. “Mmm, maybe even the second one, too, heiress. I want more of you, and you want it too.”

His lips descend again, and this second kiss is just as intense, his hands gripping my ass and driving me so insane that I’m suddenly straddling him, my fingers rubbing his muscular forearms and biceps and shoulders.

I’ve never kissed a guy with a beard before. It’s a little prickly, but it’s naughty and wicked. As my hard nipples brush against his strong chest, the pleasure is excruciatingly sweet. Too sweet. Too exciting.

Moaning as I tear free, I look at him, gasping for breath.

We size each other up.

Stare at each other’s mouth.

Amusement sparkles in his eyes, mixed with heat and something dark.

I shake my head. He shoots me a lopsided grin, the grin of a demon, for sure.

His bold gaze traps mine as he frowns. “What got you so riled?”

“You. You really sleep with women for money?”

He shakes his head and reaches for me again. “But I’ll make an exception, since you’re the one offering, and I like the looks of you.”

I straighten. What have I gotten myself into? “No. We’re not supposed . . . I didn’t invite you to my house to . . . you know what . . . call me Lizzy. It’s less . . .” Serious. Intense. Intimate. Ugh.

I stop talking when we pause at a Midtown traffic light. My breath catches, and I look around as if I’m seeing the city for the first time. If we’re already in Midtown, then that means we’ve been romping across the back seat for the last fifteen minutes.

Our driver adjusts his mirror again. He’s getting his jollies, but I ignore him.

Groaning, I gradually return my attention to James. He’s thoughtful too. I wonder what he’s thinking of when he gives me a hint.

He responds by bracketing his arm around my hips, drawing me closer to his hard male form. “You know how to use those lips—don’t you, Lizzy?”

What? What’s he asking? Does he think I’ll blow him?

Lizzy . . .

Good lord. It’s not much better when he calls me Lizzy either.

I groan and slide onto my side of the back seat. James smirks and watches me.

I clear my throat. “If you could control yourself, Mr. Rowan, I want to discuss some business,” I say, finally back to my senses.

“Fine. I’m curious. I’ll give you that. I’m all for business . . . Miss Banks.” He winks on that last.

I blink at his use of my last name.

He knows my name. He called me Miss Banks.

I cringe at the thought of this guy knowing me—or worse, maybe, my dad.

“Have we met or . . .” No. We haven’t met, and I don’t have time for games. “How do you know me, exactly?”