Page 39 of Last Resort

“And your point is what?” He leans against the counter behind him and takes a sip of his coffee. He hisses from its heat, but his eyes stay locked on mine above the rim of the cup.

“That you’re here. That you’re making coffee as if—”

“As if I own the place?” The grin he flashes is mischievous as all hell. “Well . . .”

“That’s not cool.”

“I thought it was pretty witty,” he says.

“No.”

“Then charming at least.”

I emit an exasperated sigh. First, I get domineering, sexy Callahan. Then I get brooding, I’m going to pretend I’m not Johnnie Walker, Callahan. And now I get playful, boyish Callahan. I don’t want him to be any of them because it’s damn attractive.

“Whether you own the place or not,” I try again, “that doesn’t give you the right to make yourself at home.”

He points to the second room in the villa. “Considering that’s my room, I’m supposed to be making myself at home.”

“Come again?”

A smile ghosts over his lips. “That’s the plan.”

“Answer my question,” I grit out, trying to ignore anything charming or seductive or sexy that he does or says.

“That’s my room.” A nonchalant shrug. “So that makes this our shared living space, and therefore I have every right to make myself at home, right?”

“No. It can’t be.”

“Pretty sure it is. Either that or someone’s going to get pissed that my clothes are in his or her closet.”

“No. Your stuff wasn’t in there last night.”

“You sure like that word a lot.”

“What word?” I ask, his change of topic throwing me.

“No.”

“No, I don’t.”

His grin widens. “You should learn to embrace the word yes more. Supposedly giving in to the pleasures saying yes helps you live a longer, happier life.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“I know I am. Although I prefer words like sexy or handsome or devastating. I think those have more panache to them, don’t you?”

I stare at him and his devilish grin and his incredibly absurd abs and know he’s winning this round. Him and his ridiculous comments and sheepish smile.

“I think you need to explain why you’re staying in my villa.”

“The A/C in mine went out.”

“Open a window,” I say dryly.

“You were so preoccupied wanting me last night, that you assumed I was here for pleasure. Kind of like I was your fuck toy, although that term is offensive in so many ways, so let’s not use it.” He takes a sip of coffee, clearly pleased with the show he is putting on right now. “Oh, I forgot to ask you.”

“Ask me what?”