Page 9 of Drunk on You

He shoots me a playful wink that goes straight to the apex of my legs, and I internally groan at the way this man is affecting me. I’m Anastasia Belle Kingston-Webb. I don’t let men affect me.

Jesus, get it together, woman!

He shows me the rest of the downstairs, and despite it having a bachelor-pad vibe, it’s tastefully done.

When we get upstairs, he stops at the first door on the left. “This is my room.”

I peek inside, but don’t walk in since he hasn’t done so. It has the same color palette as the rest of the house, only unlike the rest of the house that looks barely lived in, his king-size bed is a bit messy, telling me he actually sleeps in here and made his bed himself.

“Since we don’t really know each other well and our engagement isn’t real, I figured you’d be more comfortable in one of the guest rooms,” he says as he closes the door to his room and walks a little farther down the hall.

He opens the door on the other side of the hallway and steps in, rolling my luggage behind him. “This is your room. If you need or want anything changed, just let me know. It has an en suite bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, checking the room out.

“I was thinking we could go to dinner tonight, and maybe tomorrow, if you’re up for it, we could go on the boat.”

“You don’t have to work?”

“I, uh …” He clears his throat. “I took the weekend off so we could get to know each other … in person.”

He smiles shyly, and my heart rate picks up speed.

“The truth is, I’ve never done anything like this before, and I had no idea what to expect. I wasn’t even convinced you’d show up.”

I laugh and nod in agreement. “I get it. I can’t believe I actually got on the plane. The last time I did something this crazy was when I was in high school and begging for my dad’s attention—” I snap my mouth closed and mentally smack myself for once again not being careful with what I say.

“Well, now, you can’t leave me hanging,” he says with a grin. “What was this crazy thing you did?”

“I, uh …” My cheeks warm at the thought before the words even make it out. “I got drunk at a charity function, and a bunch of my friends and I went skinny-dipping in the pool … that no one else was swimming in.”

I cover my face with my hands, and Ian laughs.

“Damn, does that mean I can expect you to go skinny-dipping in my pool when you want my attention?”

I groan and shake my head. “Not happening,” I mutter from under my hands.

“Well, a man can hope,” he murmurs.

When I get the courage to look at him again, he’s staring at me, his green eyes soft and curious.

“What?” I ask, wanting to know what he’s thinking.

“I thought you were going to be this airhead trophy wife. No offense,” he adds quickly. “But you’re different.”

“Different good or different bad?” I ask even though I shouldn’t care one way or another. I’m using this guy as much as he’s using me. Who cares how he sees me?

“Good,” he says. “Definitely good.”

It shouldn’t, but the way he says those words, while looking at me with appreciation and approval, pleases me.

“I know you had a long flight, so I’ll let you get situated, maybe take a nap. How about dinner at six?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he says.

Then, he leans in and kisses my cheek. It’s only a brush of his lips, so soft that they barely touch my flesh, but it’s enough to send shivers of pleasure racing through my body and leave me wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

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