Ruthless King

“No more arguments?” he asked.

Hmm. Did he sound disappointed?

No, she had to be imagining that.

“No more arguments.”

“I’m shocked. Stay there. I don’t want you stepping on any glass.”

Jilly glanced down at her shoes. What would it matter if she stepped on the glass? But she didn’t point that out to him.

Apparently, she wasn’t allowed to argue.

Pfft. Bossy men were not sexy.

Lies! All lies!

Jilly waited until he had turned away to salute him.

He quickly cleaned up the glass while she watched on in amazement. What other man had ever offered to clean up when she’d spilled or broken something?

Lowell certainly wouldn’t have. In fact, she usually had to clean up his messes. He’d seen it as her job.

God, what had she ever seen in that asshole? He’d been an insignificant jerk. While this man, who was far sexier, more potent, more masculine . . . was sweeping up glass shards like it was something he did regularly.

“Do you clean up a lot of messes?” she asked.

“You’d be surprised.”

He did? What sort of messes? Okay, maybe she didn’t actually want to know the answer to that.

“Oh. Well. That’s nice.”

What the heck? Why did she say that? He turned to give her a curious look. “Is it?”

“Not really, no. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Do I make you nervous, Jilly?” he asked as he finished cleaning up.

Did he really have to ask that? Because she kind of thought it was obvious that he scared the pants off her.

Actually . . . she patted herself down. Whew.

Her skirt was still on her.

Sometimes, she worried that she’d be in the middle of one of her sexy daydreams and she’d just start stripping.

Think he would have noticed that and said something.

“Um. How much do I owe you for the security light?”

The room went cold.

She swore that the temperature actually dropped several degrees.

Turning, he stared at her. “Excuse me?”

Uh-oh.