Instead, I knock my nose into his collarbone.
He presses his lips between his teeth, obviously trying not to grin.
I let out a huff of annoyance. “Are you enjoying this?”
I find the entrance to his pocket and push my hand inside.
His teeth loosen their bite on his lips, and his grin widens. “Quite a lot, actually.”
I blush, quickly realizing it’s not just the key I can feel.
I curl my fingers around the key and yank my hand out.
He lets out a soft, surprised grunt.
I ignore it—and the heat rushing through my veins—as I fumble with the lock and open the door.
His chest rumbles with a muffled laugh as he carries me across the threshold into a quaint cottage.
White walls and soft pastel accents give the living room a homey feel. It’s too dark to see the ocean, but I can hear the waves crashing against the beach outside of the French doors. Is there a deck I can sit on and sketch the sandy shore?
Excitement hums through me until I remember Eloise has my sketchbook.
I expect Owen to put me down; instead, he walks me through the living room, past the kitchen, to the lone bedroom and its king-size canopied bed.
He gently lowers me to the mattress, but instead of moving away, he towers over me, the mattress dipping beneath the hands he’s placed on either side of my head.
Woodsy cologne mixes with salty sea air and does so many wonderful things to my body it’s wrong.
I look up and catch Owen’s gaze on me, that sexy, confident smirk playing on his lips. Again.
“Thinking about where else I’m going to kiss you?”
Can your heart actually beat in your throat? Because it feels like my entire body is vibrating. “No.”
His blue eyes sparkle with amusement.
He knows exactly what he is doing to me, and I’m pretty sure if he told me to open my legs right now, I’d do it.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
I hold my breath and part my lips automatically, my body wanting the kiss even if my brain is shouting danger.
He pushes himself to his feet. “Sweet dreams, Mrs. Phillips.” He walks out the door, closing it behind him.
I sit there, catching my breath, then reach for my phone and open a search bar. Who is Owen Phillips?
There are pictures of him with women all over the place.
Oh, wow. He’s the heir to Phillips Industries.
That makes me even madder.
He’s a billionaire who decided to mess with my sister’s life instead of picking a wife from the hundreds of women he’s been pictured with.
The spike of jealousy is unexpected.
And definitely unwanted.
