What the hell am I doing?

The same thought had been rattling in his brain from the moment he had left his place. He had told himself repeatedly that he would not seek her out, that doing so would be a really bad idea, yet here he was anyway. But knowing Vexy—Kayla—was so close proved to be too much of a temptation to resist.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to see her again, though admittedly, that was his primary motivation. She had been on his mind like a catchy song he couldn’t get out of his head.

Beyond that, he had questions. Lots of them. Such as: had she known who he was all along? As a local, she would be familiar with Dumas Industries, and his picture appeared in the news often enough to make her knowing not only possible, but probable.

And, if she had known who he was, why hadn’t she said anything? Had she feared he wouldn’t have been interested if he knew of her local ties or that she wasn’t the wealthy diva she had appeared to be? Or had she had something more unethical in mind, like an opportunity for blackmail or scandal?

He didn’t want to believe their time together had been predicated on bad intentions, especially since he had been the one to initiate things. The fact that he had seen and heard nothing since her ghosting impression were points in her favor, yet he would have to be either stupid or incredibly naïve to believe it wasn’t a possibility. Spencer was neither. He had come from a long line of cutthroats.

He was a Dumas. Ruthlessness was encoded in his DNA.

Spencer’s irritation grew as his repeated buzzes and knocks went unanswered. A car was in the driveway, the lights were on—someone was definitely home. Was she deliberately ignoring him?

He glanced around the small entrance, half-expecting to find a security camera pointed at him, and finding nothing. Concern briefly overrode his annoyance. A woman living alone should have some kind of security system in place. Then again, every new piece of information he had uncovered about Kayla O’Connell had been unexpected.

She wasn’t a wealthy vixen as he had first thought, but a travel agent in a Podunk town. Her house wasn’t the high-end condo or palatial estate he had envisioned during those many times he had thought of her, but a small rancher in an older suburban neighborhood.

Of course, that suspicious part of him piped up, that gives her all the more reason to screw you, doesn’t it?

He raised his hand to knock again, but before he could make contact, the door suddenly opened and he was face-to-face with a pissed-off looking woman brandishing a ... spoon?

He blinked, and her eyes widened in recognition the same time her mouth gaped in surprise. The hand holding the spoon remained frozen in mid-air, so he took advantage of the moment to drink her in.

She was definitely his Vexy, but she looked quite different from the woman who had been hijacking his thoughts. Wearing simple pink cotton shorts and a matching tank, damp hair curling into loose ringlets, and a face completely devoid of makeup, she was ... even more attractive.

“You! What are you doing here?”

The cynical thoughts he had been having only minutes before vanished, replaced by the desire to touch her again.

As his lips started curling into a grin, she grabbed his arm and yanked him toward her.

“Get in here before somebody sees you!”

He stumbled over the threshold, enjoying the strong grip on his forearm and the scrape of nails against his skin too much to process her words immediately.

She released his arm and waved the spoon at him, flinging drops of what looked like chocolate ice cream into the air. With his much-larger hand, he grasped her wrist and brought the spoon to his lips. He licked it slowly, watching as her eyes latched on to his mouth. Beneath the thin material, her nipples pebbled.

“Mm. Delicious. Not as good as you, of course.”

Though she huffed a sound of feminine exasperation, her pupils dilated and her nipples couldn’t lie. Neither could the delicate flush blossoming along her neck. Her skin had turned that pretty pink blush when he had been pleasuring her, too.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

She was annoyed with herself for responding, but she was responding. She liked his little show of dominance. He could definitely work with that.

Images of dribbling ice cream over those luscious breasts and licking them clean assaulted his mind.

He grinned. “Got any more?”

She blinked and snatched her hand back. He allowed it. Reluctantly. It was all about give-and-take.

“Maybe.” She sniffed.

His grin grew.

“Get another spoon, and I’ll tell you. Or better yet ...” His eyes dropped to her chest suggestively.

She sucked in a breath, then turned and wiggled that incredible ass toward the kitchen. He wouldn’t mind licking ice cream off that, either.

“Here.” She thrust the spoon at him then sauntered over to her couch. Scooping up the tub, she held it out to him. “Start talking. And don’t hog it all.”

Spencer didn’t know what he found more attractive: Kayla in her natural surroundings, or the bossy way she spoke to him. Both were incredible turn-ons.

But wait ... wasn’t he the one looking for answers?

He dipped the spoon into the tub of ice cream. “Let’s start with why you snuck away in the middle of the night.”

“I had a plane to catch.” She sniffed once again. “I’m surprised you even noticed, what with your fiancée showing up and all.”

She had spoken the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. He understood that. The thought of marrying Chelsea had the same effect on him.

“She’s not my fiancée.”

Kayla snatched the container back and glared at him. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure I saw the big announcement trending in my sidebar a few times. What is that all about? Another blatant example of ‘fake news’?”

She was upset over news of his alleged engagement. The realization skittered happily through his chest, despite her scowl.

“I didn’t ask Chelsea to marry me. My father arranged all that.”

Her brows furrowed. “Your father? Why would he do that?”

“Because,” Spencer admitted, “he wants a merger between Dumas Industries and Chamberlain Corporation.”

She thought about that for a moment, then said, “Funny, I didn’t realize arranged marriages were included in boardroom negotiations these days.” She exhaled and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not buying it. Go yank someone else’s chain.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because some women might find the fact that you’re engaged a huge turn-off,” she said sarcastically.

Maybe some women would feel that way, but not enough of them for him to care. There were always plenty of willing women eager to share his bed, regardless of his current relationship status.

“Would you?” he asked.

She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. Besides, I thought you were the CEO of Dumas Industries, not your father. Kinda shitty to lay the blame on him when you’re the one in charge.”

The words felt like a physical blow, a shot delivered with unerring precision to his weakest spot. It was proof she was far more than a pretty face and a smoking hot body.

And a timely reminder that she might have a hidden agenda.

“Let me ask you something. Did you know who I was when I sent you the note in the restaurant that night?”

Her eyes dropped to the container of forgotten ice cream. “Yes.”

“Yet you came anyway.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t raise her gaze, staring at the ice cream while she swirled her spoon back and forth.

Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was it guilt that kept her from looking into his eyes and saying something?

Saying anything?

Hurt and anger began to swell and churn inside him. He was used to people using him, but he had hoped she was different.

“Was it because you saw it as an opportunity? Bragging rights? Or just a thrill to fuck someone so far out of your league?” The cutting words sliced liked honed blades from his chest to his throat.

Her eyes did snap up then, flashing with fire. She stood. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

He stood, too. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

She pointed at the door. “Get out.”

“Fine. But you’ll get nothing from me, do you understand?”

He didn’t think she could look any angrier, but she did.

“Have I asked you for anything?” she spat, opening the door. “Did I approach you at Sate? Did I show up on your doorstep? You’re the one who tracked me down, not the other way around. Goodbye, Mr. Dumas.”

She gave him a shove then closed the door behind him. He heard the locks engage, then the exterior light switched off and he was left standing in the dark.

Spencer walked to his car and got in. A few seconds later, the rest of the lights inside the house went off, as well.

Spencer drove away feeling as if he had just run some kind of bizarre gauntlet. In less than thirty minutes, he had experienced anticipation, cynicism, rampant lust, hurt, and anger. Rather than getting the answers he had sought, he felt weary and more confused than ever.

Some of his anger evaporated as he replayed their conversation over in his head, allowing him to think more clearly. Had it been guilt that had kept her from answering, or something else? Had that sheen of moisture pooling in her eyes been solely from righteous ire, or had there been a bit of hurt there, too?

It was possible that he had let his cynical nature get the best of him. The woman did seem to have a way of getting under his skin quickly and with minimal effort. Therefore, instead of approaching with caution and an open mind, he had jumped to conclusions. And maybe, just maybe, he had overreacted.

That same intense passion that made them so sexually compatible had also brought other strong emotions to the surface.

That was where the true danger lay.

Spencer exhaled heavily. What was it about Kayla O’Connell that pushed all his buttons and made him lose control so easily?

Could he have misjudged her? Was it possible she had no ulterior motives and was, like him, just looking for a good time?

No. It was more than that. It had to be.

She hadn’t made any attempt to contact him in the last few weeks, nor had she made any demands or requests or threats. Maybe that was what was really bothering him—a bruised ego. After all, she had been the one to walk—sneak—away from him without so much as a goodbye. She had known who he was and where to find him, yet she hadn’t once attempted to contact him.

Had she dismissed him from her thoughts so easily, when he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her?

The electricity between them was still there, strong enough that the air between them practically sizzled with it, so he knew she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. But ... she had thrown him out on his ass, too.

Maybe, maybe, he had deserved it.

The question was: what was he going to do about it?