I twisted my head to the side, my blond hair falling over one shoulder, and he smirked down at me like he was the damn King of Los Angeles. Cocky smiles like those were meant for one thing, and he’d already gotten that from me.

Rotating the knob, I straightened my back and flung the door open where it banged loudly against the wall. “It wasn’t an invitation.”

Molding his body to my backside, his fingers spread over my chest, and he breathed against my neck. “It sure as hell sounded like one, Lizzie.”

Screaming at myself to put on my big girl panties—the ones that also warded off men like Oliver—I darted out of his grip, my shoulders burning from the trail of heat his fingertips left.

“Goodnight, Mr. Manning.” I started to close the door, but the boot lodged in the opening halted my plans. When he shoved his face so close to mine my small nose brushed the tip of his, I sucked in a harsh breath.

“You get pissed at me for doing something wrong, fine. But you’re not going to close doors in my face without giving me a chance to fix whatever it is that’s ticked you off.”

“You don't have to fix anything.” But I stupidly held the door open to let him in. Placing my bag and the bottle of wine on the foyer table, I faced him with my arms crossed over my chest. “What do you want, Oliver?”

“I wanted to take the beautifully frustrating woman I spent the night with to dinner. I wanted to take her back to my place again for ... dessert. And then, since it’s the weekend, I had no plan of seeing that beautiful body covered by anything other than my cock and our sweat for the next twenty-four hours.”

If I weren’t so irritated, my underwear would probably already be on the laminate wood floor.

“You couldn’t say all that via text?” The breathlessness in my voice earned me a gleaming white smile I wanted to smack right off his face.

“You told me to fuck off,” he pointed out.

Twisting away from him, I swiped the bottle and stalked through the foyer toward the kitchen with him hot on my trail.

“I saw a picture of you with Finley Scott online today,” I said hotly over my shoulder, ditching the bottle of wine on the counter. “Since it was taken just yesterday, I assumed you were no longer interested in any of that with me.”

His expression amused, he accepted the fall ale I pulled out of the refrigerator. Opening the bottle cap easily with the corner of my counter, he turned it to his full lips and took a drink. Then, he made a soft noise of admonishment.

“I would have thought that after what happened the other night, you would have learned from my mistakes and not jumped to conclusions.” He reached for my own beer bottle, and I passed it to him. Using the counter as a bottle opener once again, his longing gaze traveled over all five-foot-four-inches of my body.

“Although I have to say, the end result has left me starving for seconds all week. To answer your question about Finley, we are not together again, and there’s no possibility of that happening.”

“Alright.” I downed at least a quarter of my beer before I nodded briskly. “Alright.”

“You still sound unconvinced.” He exhaled. “I'd be happy to take you to my mother’s house right now and have Finley explain the nature of our relationship to you herself.”

My mouth fell open in horror. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“I met with her yesterday to answer questions about this damn birthday party my mother is insisting on. Trust me, there are many other ways I’d love to spend my thirtieth birthday—being trapped in a house with Finley and Margaret is not one of them.”

His birthday party.

The same event Margaret had asked me to help Finley with if she happened to call on me for assistance.

I felt like a fool. A blubbering, jealous fool, but when I glanced at the floor, Oliver left his beer on the counter and held my chin in his hand. I swallowed down my embarrassment, not wanting to look up at him.

What the hell was happening to me? I sounded like the heroine of that Carrie Underwood song about taking a bat to headlights and keying cars, and I was definitely not that person.

“Dammit,” I groaned, and a soft grin touched his features. “I don’t even know what to say except you’ll have to excuse my ... temporary lapse of judgment.”

“Bring that lapse of judgment to my bed,” he advised, stroking the corners of my lips. “I've already told you your jealousy makes my cock react.” With his free hand, he spread my fingers on the hard bulge in the front of his pants. “Now that we’ve established I’m not fucking my ex, I’m not leaving here without you. We both want each other—we’ve admitted it already—so there’s no use in denying it.”

I hated that he’d worded it like that because it was the truth.

Because I couldn’t shake what Pen had told me about not falling in love with Oliver. Any man who could provoke such a volatile reaction from me all over a photo of him with another woman—well, that made him dangerous.

“I—”

He drowned my protests with his lips and tongue, drawing quiet moans from my throat as his mouth worked furiously over mine. It was possessive, almost punishing me for assuming the worst in him because I knew he wouldn’t finish what he’d started until he was good and ready.

Breathing raggedly, he broke our mouths apart, gliding his tongue over his lips. “Don’t fight me on this, Lizzie. I’ve been thinking about you since I brought you home the other morning, and I’m determined to be with you, inside of you, tonight.”

Damn Oliver with his pretty words and gifted body.

And damn myself for wanting to go with him badly enough to throw caution to the wind. Even though I was nodding, agreeing to leave with him, I heard myself whisper, “Then I’ll be the one whose picture is online.”

“Nobody will take photos of you.” At my skeptical sigh, he pulled away from me. “Contrary to what you might think, they don’t follow me around. We’ll go someplace private.”

“Do I need to change?”

He removed my hand from his zipper but not before squeezing my fingers lightly around the thick flesh. “Not if you want to stay dressed,” he warned.

*

Oliver’s private place turned out to be an incredibly busy international restaurant on Rodeo Drive. It was near the hotel where one of my top ten favorite movies—the ironically fitting Pretty Woman—was filmed. When I told him while we waited for our hostess to seat us, he looked down at me sheepishly.

“Never seen it.”

“Who are you?” I demanded. “First The Tudors and now this? You have to watch it—it’s a classic just like The Princess Bride.”

He bent his head, grazing my ear with his mouth. “You better bring bring a hell of a good negotiation to the table to get me on board with watching either of those.” I looked over my shoulder to see his blue eyes gleaming with desire, and my sex tightened eagerly. “I’m talking about—”

“Mr. Manning,” the hostess spoke up, snagging both our attention. Smiling, she held two large menus to her chest. “Your table is available.”

With his hand resting on the small of my back and his fingers drumming on the curve of my ass, I felt nearly every female eye in the building following us enviously as we were seated at an intimate table near the back of the restaurant.

After our hostess departed, he leaned back in the scroll print Parsons chair and stared at me. Though I couldn’t read his expression, it was impossible not to wilt slightly under his intense perusal.

“You like unnerving me,” I said to break the silence. “Don’t you?”

“If I wanted to unnerve you—” I felt his hand between my legs and before I could push it away, he flicked his thumb over the center of my panties, sending desire melting through me. “—I’d start with that.”

Keeping my face void of any emotion, I cocked my head. “What happened to what you said about not whipping your dick out at restaurants?”