Anger swells in me. “Did you know? Last night, did you know who I was?”

“Of course not. Why?”

I narrow my eyes on him, trying to see the truth in his sparkling gaze. “Because that would be a pretty crappy thing to do.”

I’m self aware enough to realize that the majority of my ire comes from humiliation. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to lay some blame at his feet, though.

“It would, but I didn’t do anything, if you remember.”

My brows shoot up. “Wow. My memory must be getting really bad. I totally thought I was in your room last night, and you did plenty. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

Nixon unfolds his lean body and comes to his feet. He’s less than a foot away, and when he straightens, I’m reminded of how big he is. He towers over me.

His lips pull up into a grin that makes my skin warm. That only further irritates me.

“Oh, I’m definitely responsible for that. But don’t forget it was you who came up and kissed me at that bar.”

Actually, I had forgotten. “Oh. Right.” I drop my face, even more embarrassed now. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I haven’t been home in a while. It’s got me all twisted in knots. I’m doing and saying things I wouldn’t normally do or say. Or do.”

He grins. “You already said that.”

“Well, I just want to be sure you know.”

“Know…”

He’s going to make me spell it out, damn him. After the last twelve hours, it’ll be a miracle if my face isn’t permanently beet red.

“That I don’t normally do things like I did last night.”

“That’s a shame. You seemed to really enjoy yourself.” He shifts toward me ever so slightly. “I damn sure enjoyed you.”

“Ohmygod,” I breathe in mortification. I hold up a palm and take a step back. “Look, this can’t happen. Last night shouldn’t have happened. If I’d known who you were…”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t.”

“If I’d known you worked for my father, I’d never have let things go that far.”

Nixon tilts his head and one brow hikes up. He looks…challenged. “Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right. I don’t get involved with people who work for my father. I have few hard and fast rules in my life, but that’s one, and it’s one I stick to.”

“Sounds like your mind is made up then.”

I straighten my spine. “It is. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it has to be.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand,” he says, still nodding as he takes another step toward me to close the gap I created.

I step back. Again. “So you understand why you can’t do things like this.”

“Like what?” He moves toward me once more.

“Like this.” I wave a hand between us to indicate what’s going on here, whatever it is. It’s unnerving as hell, that’s all I know.

“I understand that you want me to make this easy for you.”

“P-pardon?”

He comes even closer, so close I can smell the scent of soap on his warm skin, and the coffee and peppermint on his breath. “We started something last night, something I didn’t think I’d have the chance to finish. But now that I do—”

“You don’t. I—”

“You can deny it if you have to, but I want you, and I know you want me.”

“That…that doesn’t matter. The fact of the matter is that my father is—”

“I don’t give a damn who your father is, and you shouldn’t give a damn about my work. This is between us.”

“There is no us. There is no this.”

At that, Nixon smiles. A broad smile that causes my stomach to flip over. Right before my eyes, the transformation happens again. He goes from ruggedly handsome to stunning. My mind can’t fully understand how any one person could be so devastatingly gorgeous.

“If that’s how you feel, then it will be my pleasure to prove you wrong.”

“You’re wasting your time.” I try to sound unaffected, but with him close enough to touch, that’s harder than I thought it would be.

As he stares intently down into my eyes, Nixon lifts his hand to brush the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. “I’m sure you’re many things, but a waste of my time isn’t one of them.” Before my scrambled brain can even think of a response, he continues, effectively cutting off any argument or rebuttal I might’ve made. “Now, we need to get on the road. Where are your bags?”

He’s all business now, as though he wasn’t trying to melt me from the inside out ten seconds ago. And doing a disturbingly good job of it, by the way, although I’d never tell him that.

“They’re at the front desk.”

Nixon reaches for my hand. “Then let’s go get ‘em.”

With my hand engulfed in his larger, rougher one, I realize that Nixon Holt is going to be trouble. Big, big trouble.