Chapter One
Owen
“What are we doing, Owen?”
“Silly woman, you know exactly what we’re doing, but if I must... when a man and a woman are attracted to one another?—”
“Don’t be an ass.” She pushes against my chest. Although there’s a lack of effort behind the action. “You know what I mean. We said last time was the last time.”
“No. You said the last time was the last time. Of course, you said that the time before that and the time before that...”
She rolls her eyes because she knows I’m right. This isn’t the first time my best friend's baby sister and I have found ourselves in the dark, lip-locked, with our hands all over each other.
“I don’t even like you.”
“You keep tellin’ yourself that, darlin’.”
In a rare instance, I render the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known speechless as I trail kisses down her neck whilesimultaneously slipping her scarf from her body, letting it fall to my entryway floor.
“You aren’t my type,” she huffs, without any real conviction.
She glares at me as she unzips my Carhart jacket, pushing it off my shoulders until it’s on the floor with her scarf.
With a playful shove, I press her against the wall to get better access to the toggles on her winter coat. “Could have fooled me.”
She bats my hands away to work on her coat herself as she backs up her statement. “Let’s see, where do I start? You’re arrogant.” Her coat flies open, and my hands dive inside to rid her of it as she continues. “Annoying.”
“You love it when I annoy you.” I egg her on as she fumbles for the hem of my sweater, dragging it over my head.
“In your dreams. Although, I see you aren’t gonna try to deny the arrogance.”
Before I can reply, her fingers work on my belt buckle, and she continues her list of all the things she hates about me. Her contempt, however, doesn’t stop her efforts to get me naked.
“You are an attention-seeking whore who drinks way too much beer.”
The whooshing sound of my belt being ripped through the loops on my jeans makes my dick twitch, desperate to escape the denim prison it’s trapped in.
“Are you saying I’m getting a beer belly?” I say in jest, making a show of removing her hands from the button of my jeans as I gesture toward the six-pack I work incredibly hard for as a man in my thirties.
Her index finger tugs on the waistband of my jeans, bringing me even closer. “Don’t fish for compliments. You’re only adding to my list.”
God, I love winding her up. If I were making a list of my favorite pastimes, provoking Daisy McKinnon would be at the very top. There is simply nothing better.
Okay, that’s a lie.
There’s nothing better than beinginsideDaisy McKinnon.
Nothing.
She pops the button on my pants, then slowly lowers the zipper. She thinks she’s in control.
Daisy is always in control of everything in her life. Just not when she’s in my bed. Or anywhere else we may find ourselves alone.
Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I take a step away from her. “Sweater. Off.”
“Asshole.”
She doesn’t mean it. Well, she does, and she doesn’t, but there’s no venom behind her insult. She loves that I’m a goofball in the streets and a bossy asshole between the sheets. She’d never admit it, but I know this woman better than she knows herself.
