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Roman Kingsley is a complication I simply don’t need. I’m only here for the summer, and I have a one-track mind. Complete my court-ordered anger management program so I don’t lose everything I’ve sacrificed my whole life for. Besides, I’m going to need to keep my job if I want to buy my sister that house.

No good can come of living so close to the walking temptation that is now my boss.

How am I supposed to trust myself not to walk across the backyard and not throw myself at him? Especially when he looks so fucking tempting in his suit with his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing those delicious forearms…

“Why don’t I take you inside to look around before you decide?” His hand is already on the small of my back, ushering me forward.

The warmth of his hand against my back sends a shiver racing across my skin, even through the cotton of my shirt. Panic flares in my chest, but my body ignores every warning, my feet moving on their own accord. Like the Pied Piper, he leads, and somehow, I’m already following, completely under his spell.

I quickly glance around for Matilda, as if she’ll be the one to save me from myself, but a moment later, she comes skidding to a halt and sits at my feet. When she looks up at me, I can hear her voice in my head saying: Now this is more like it. You better not screw this up for me, Kira.

Great. As if I needed any more pressure. Now I have to worry about my dog telepathically berating me if I don’t go through with this. I think we’re well past anger management and getting into some deep psychiatric shit now.

Roman types in the lock code and we step inside.

I scan the room, taking it all in—dark hardwood floors, layered with Persian rugs, furniture that complements without perfectly matching. A professional hand is obvious in every detail.

And the kitchen. The kitchen is what dreams are made of. I never thought a countertop could be sexy until right now—decadent jade green onyx, waterfall edge, and matching backsplash. It may be small, but perfect for what I’d need, with a small peninsula and two chairs.

Roman continues the tour, showing me to the bedroom at the end of the hall before leading me to a small laundry nook that doubles as a mud room. He talks with his hands, every gesture animated, yet somehow always finds an excuse to touch me as he guides me through the rest of the tour.

My skin is on fire, every nerve ending exploding like fireworks as we move from room to room. Somehow, the beautifully decorated interior only amplifies the whirlwind of sensation coursing through me. By the time we reach the bathroom, I’m practically drooling and fanning myself.

A claw-foot tub with a chandelier sits in the middle of the bathroom. A wall of windows spans across the back wall overlooking the gardens.

Matilda comes into the kitchen and calmly sits at my feet, looking up at me with big pleading eyes as if to say, if I’m being forced to leave my children, then I suppose it isn’t too shabby.

Roman walks up beside her and begins rubbing her head, like it’s second nature to him. Like he’s never met an animal that didn’t like him.

I don’t miss the goading look she gives me before leaning into his leg, her tongue lolling out when his fingers move beneath her collar to scratch her neck.

I narrow my eyes on her, and a flare of jealousy warms my skin as I vividly remember just how talented those fingers were.

“Between the landscapers, pool cleaners, and my housekeeping staff, there’s always someone around during the workdays,” Roman’s voice cuts through the charged silence, grounding me back to the moment. “I can ask them to keep an eye on Matilda and make sure she has plenty of food and water.”

I blink several times, snapping out of my lust-filled daze. “That’d be great. I’m happy to pay⁠—”

He holds up a hand. “That won’t be necessary. My staff loves animals, and they’ll be happy to help.”

I start to argue, but it’s obvious Roman Kingsley is far too much of a gentleman to back down from this, so I force a smile and say, “Thank you. I appreciate that. And I know Matilda does too.”

Speaking of Matilda, that little traitor wasted no time switching sides. She’s shameless as she looks over at me from where she’s lying on her back, stubby tail wagging a mile a minute, as she soaks up all the belly rubs she can get.

I shake my head and blow out a huff. Rub it in, why don’t you.

Roman must sense our silent exchange because his eyes crinkle at the corners, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. “So, does that mean you’re going to stay?”

As much as I hate admitting defeat, how the hell am I supposed to go back to living in my sister’s cramped house when this is being offered to me? Besides, I don’t think Matilda would ever forgive me if I came between her and her apparent new favorite person.

I twist my lips, hating that I can’t think of a single objection—that he knows about anyway. “You’ve been more than generous with all of this.” I gesture around the kitchen. “I don’t see how I can say no.”

The smile he gives me actually makes my knees go weak, and I have to fight the urge to fan myself.

“I’ll go get your things.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I push away from the counter.

Roman shakes his head and clicks his tongue. And for reasons I don’t fully understand, my body obeys.