I must have had voodoo lips or something, because Julian had lost his freaking mind the moment he touched them.

“Stay with you?” I stared at him, wondering what on Earth had possessed him to say such a thing. Other than me and my apparently irresistible loving, anyway.

He frowned. “What, you don’t want to?”

“No, I don’t want to!” I rolled my eyes. “It’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Dumb?” he growled. “Why is it so dumb?”

“You mean, besides the fact that we’d kill each other within five minutes?”

“We wouldn’t kill each other,” he huffed.

“We can’t even be in the same room without arguing,” I argued. “We’re arguing right freaking now!”

“We weren’t arguing a minute ago,” he rumbled, leaning forward and nipping my lower lip. His hazel eyes were still dark, the pupils blown out, as he caught and held my gaze. “We got along just fine when your tongue was in my mouth.”

I put my hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. “Are you freaking kidding me right now?”

“No.” His hands shot out, gripping my hips and sliding me closer to him again. “I think it’s the best idea ever.”

I glared at him. “You want me to what, move in and be your sex slave?”

Those last words were hissed out, because however much Larkin might tease me for it, well, once a Catholic school girl, always a Catholic school girl. As an impressionable young teen, I’d really taken Sister Mary Agnes’s dire warnings to heart. Now, when I was upset and not thinking clearly, it was difficult to convince myself that fornication would not, in fact, lead to an immediate and painful death.

“No,” he repeated. “If you stay with me, you have a safe place for as long as you need it, and you don’t have to pay for a hotel room you apparently can’t afford.” His fingers sneaked around, squeezing my butt, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from moaning. God, his hands on me felt good. Too good. “Sex is just a bonus,” he added.

My mouth popped open in shock and, okay, maybe a little bit of ecstasy, and he shamelessly took the opportunity to put his finger in it, no doubt expecting me to suck on it.

I bit it instead.

“Ow! Jesus!” He took his hand back, shaking it out while he scowled at me. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I am not having sex with you, Julian Morgan!” I pushed him back so I could stand up. Then I hastily pulled down my skirt before he could see my underwear. “So don’t you dare think you can lure me into your, your… Red Room of Pain!”

He stared at me for a long moment, his beard twitching like crazy. Then he burst into laughter. And because I was annoyed with him, I tried not to notice how white his teeth were when he smiled or how the sound of his laughter caused the aforementioned underwear to flood with wetness.

Gah!

“Red Room of Pain?” he wheezed, still chuckling. “You have been reading too much mommy porn, princess.”

My nostrils flared at the nickname. He could call me by my first name, or my last name, or even call me names. But ‘princess’ was where I drew the line.

“Do. Not. Call. Me. Princess.” I didn’t address the ‘mommy porn’ comment because, well, guilty.

He raised his hands, affecting an innocent expression. But his hair was mussed, his eyes hooded, and his lips swollen from making out. He was also filling out the front of his jeans a bit more than usual. I swallowed roughly, remembering how that bulge had felt when pressed against me. Yeah. He was about as innocent as a gigolo.

“Okay, fine. What should I call you?”

Well, the answer to that was obvious. “Taylor.” This time I didn’t bother to keep the ‘duh’ from my tone. He was being infuriatingly dumb tonight.

“Okay, Taylor.” He smiled at me again, and ugh, that was just unacceptable. Because his smile was just too good. Growly Julian was dangerous enough to my sanity.

But smiley Julian? Now that just might be the death of me. Or him. I wasn’t sure which just yet.

“Now,” he continued, reaching around me and squeezing my butt again. “Get your stuff and let’s go home.”

I glared at him. “Are you deaf?” I stepped away from him. “I will not stay with you.”

“Is this about Morris?” He closed the distance between us again, reaching out and gripping my hips. “Because I think we just established you are mine.”

I pushed him away again, though I can’t deny a little thrill ran through me at the way he growled the word ‘mine.’

“Graham and I broke up.” He hummed in approval, and I gave him a dirty look. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Never mind. I’ll wait another-” I checked the time on my desk phone- “three and a half hours until the bank’s servers are up, then I can put some money in my account and get a hotel.”

He frowned. “Look, if you need money, I can lend you some. But you don’t need to stay at a hotel.”

“I don’t need your money.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I have my own.”

“You just told me you don’t have enough to cover a hotel room.”

“Because all my money is in my savings account!” I huffed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “What do you mean all your money is in your savings?”

I stifled a growl. Why did he need to know this? Why did he have to question everything? Why was our default mode argument?

“Every time I get paid, I budget how much I’ll need for the essentials,” I explained as patiently as I could. “Then I put the rest in savings.” This was not a difficult concept to understand. I wasn’t sure why he was struggling with it.

“The essentials?” he scoffed. “What, clothes and shoes?”

I took in a shaky breath. So that was why he didn’t get it – he was still under the impression that I was an irresponsible, image-obsessed twit. Even now, after everything that had happened tonight, he was still looking down on me.

I blinked, trying to corral a resurgence of the stupid tears. Would there ever be a time when he wouldn’t assume the worst about me? Sure, I liked to look good, and I talked about it a lot. And true, I hadn’t told him much else about myself. But that was because every time I did, it fell on deaf ears. He’d made up his mind about me the second he met me, and no matter what I said or did, no matter how hard I worked or how smart I was, he still thought he was better than me.

And that was why, in the end, this wouldn’t work. Not the way things were now. It wasn’t the sex issue, or the fact that I’d never lived with a man, or the fact that he was my boss. No, we couldn’t live together, couldn’t be together, because while Julian certainly wanted me, he clearly didn’t like me.

And that was just un-freaking-acceptable. He needed to see me, needed to respect me. I deserved nothing less.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “No, Julian,” I finally replied. “I do not consider new shoes to be essential.”

He let out a deep breath, looking frustrated. “Then explain it to me.”

I searched his gaze for a moment, but I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with me, or with himself. Or maybe he was just as tired of the constant bickering as I was.

“Gas,” I told him. “Groceries. Shampoo. Toothpaste.”

“Self-tanner,” he added, with just the slightest hint of a sneer.

“I will not apologize for having standards,” I warned him. “I like to look my best. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is if you’re blowing your whole paycheck on it,” he countered.

“Are you even listening to me?” I shouted. “I. Have. A. Savings. Account.” I ran my hands though my hair, because law enforcement would probably frown upon me wrapping them around his neck and squeezing until he stopped talking. “I put sixty percent of my take-home pay in there, every two weeks, without fail.”

“What are you saving that much for?” He stepped forward, opening his mouth again. But I reached out and out and put a finger over his lips.

“Don’t you dare make a crack about eyeshadow. Do not even think about it.” His lips puckered, kissing my fingertip, and I huffed. “For your information, it’s for college.”

He mumbled against my fingertip, and reluctantly, I pulled my finger away.

“Why do you need that much for college?” he asked.

“I told you when I interviewed,” I reminded him. “My funding fell through. I had to drop out.”

He shrugged. “So get another scholarship.”

“Right, because it’s that easy.” I shook my head. “Do you have any idea how competitive these things are? No, of course not,” I continued, before he could even answer. “You want to call me a princess?” I asked. “You want to sit here, king of this company your daddy built, with your Ivy League education that your daddy bought, and tell me to just ‘get another scholarship?’”

He stepped toward me, his expression darkening. “Now wait a minute-”

“No, you wait a minute, Julian. I worked my butt off to get into Syracuse. I got the high test scores, I did the community service, I made valedictorian.” I ticked my accomplishments off on my fingers, holding his gaze mercilessly. “And still, I barely got into a school that isn’t even in the top fifty schools in the country. And as for scholarships? Well, I qualified for just about enough to cover my freaking textbooks. I had to pay for the rest myself, with money I earned by working all four years of high school. That was money I was saving so I could open my own business.”

“Right. Making lip gloss.” His tone was still derisive, and somehow I resisted the urge to scream.

“You’re damn right, making lip gloss! I want to make something that I love, something that means a lot to me. I want to make something that will empower women and make them feel good about themselves. And I will use the money I earn from ‘making lip gloss’ to employ other women and help them improve their lives. And I will use some of my profits to give back to the women I can’t employ.” I stifled a sob, so beyond angry I could hardly contain it. “So who the hell do you think you are, mocking my dreams?”

He took half a step back, still glaring at me. “I work hard here, Taylor. I didn’t have everything handed to me. I had to work my way up in my daddy’s company.”

I looked up at the ceiling, as though asking God for patience. Typical. I’d just poured my heart out to him, revealed how much I’d struggled to become the fabulous creature standing in front of him, how much I still had to hustle before I got to where I wanted to be. And all he could focus on was himself.

“Yes, Julian.” I gave him a withering look. “I know you work hard. But for once – just freaking once – I would like you to recognize that I work hard, too. I would like you to see that, impossible as it may be to believe, I do not just sit around thinking about makeup all day. I would like you to understand that I have deeper problems than my foundation not matching my skin tone.”

He was silent for a long moment, just watching me. Finally he let out a long, noisy breath, closing his eyes. “Okay.”

I frowned. “Okay?”

He ran a hand over his face. “Okay. I will stop being a dick.” He opened his eyes again, holding my gaze. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” I couldn’t help the disbelief in my tone. Two minutes ago it was like he wasn’t even hearing me. And now he was ‘sorry.’

He huffed. “Yes, I’m sorry. You are smart, and ambitious, and a hard worker. You do a good job and you make my life easier, and I’m grateful for that. And your tits are hot.” He stepped forward, tucking my now-tangled hair behind my ear. He locked eyes with me, his gaze sincere and apologetic. “And I will do my best not to make fun of your dreams anymore.”

I took a deep breath. He was trying. I could see that. I just needed to persevere. There was hope that one day he would know my worth. One day we’d be in a place where it wouldn’t even occur to him to belittle my dreams. One day he would appreciate more than just my boobs and my ability to keep him caffeinated.

But in the meantime: “And you’ll give me a five percent raise,” I shot back.

He raised his eyebrows. “Three.”

“Four.”

His beard twitched, and this time I was sure he was trying not to smile. “Four it is.” He leaned forward, kissing my forehead softly. “Now, will you come home with me so we can have crazy monkey sex all weekend?”

I rolled my eyes. “Sister Mary Agnes was right after all.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Who was right about what?”

“Kiss a guy once, and he’ll keep at you until you give away your virtue.”

“Your virtue?” he echoed, still looking bewildered.

“I’ll stay with you,” I replied. “Because it’ll be convenient. We can carpool.” And because I couldn’t go back to South Bay, not anytime soon, anyway. I just couldn’t face Larkin, not after that disaster of a date. “But we are not having sex.”

He growled under his breath. “Fine. I’m not saying that’s a condition of your stay-”

“Of course not,” I retorted. “That would make me a prostitute.”

He scowled at me. “But I would really like to fuck you,” he rumbled, his normally-smooth voice graveled with lust. “And I’m pretty sure you want to fuck me, too.”

My heart raced, because yes. Yes, I did want to – to fuck him. There. I could say it. I wanted to fuck his brains out. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted another man, more than I could even understand. The temptation to give him my virtue was too strong, and I wasn’t sure I could fight it much longer.

But I would have to, because as I’d just told him, I had standards, and they were worthless without the conviction to uphold them.

“I do,” I admitted. “But that’s not happening.”

“Why not?” he asked, and to his credit, there was a minimum of whine in his tone. If anything, he sounded curious.

“Because,” I replied as I bent to pick up my shoes. “You can’t have my virginity until you respect me.”