Page 150 of By His Rule

“Why?” I burst, spinning back around to glare at him

Damn it. It’s easier to be annoyed when I can’t see his hot body and pretty face.

Ugh. He is the most infuriating man on the planet.

“Why do you care? You don’t about anyone else.”

“Everyone else isn’t you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Our eye contact holds as the air crackles between us.

“Excuse me, I need the bathroom,” he says before turning his back on me—his stupidly muscular back—and disappearing into the hallway.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, dropping my face into my hands.

“I’ll take mine black and strong.”

“And in a takeout cup,” I mutter.

When he returns, I’m sitting at the island with a mug in my hands, my eyes locked on the liquid gold inside.

He moves around me, I assume scanning the counter for his coffee, but he will soon be disappointed.

“Where’s mine?”

“At the coffee shop you’ll stop at on your way home. Get dressed, Kian. It’s time to leave.”

He stops beside me and crosses his thick arms over his chest.

That V and the marginally smaller bulge in his sweats call to me, but I manage to resist.

“Are you usually this rude to your guests?” he asks.

“My guests are usually invited to stay,” I counter.

He moves, walking around behind me, making my entire body tingle with the need to turn and watch him.

Only a few seconds later, I discover that I don’t need to move a muscle, because he appears before me and sets about making his own coffee.

“I thought you knew, Temptress. I’m not the kind of man who waits for an invitation.”

The coffee machine starts up and he spins around, resting his ass against my counter, his heated stare burning the top of my head, demanding that I look up and meet his eyes.

I hold still for a few more moments, not wanting him to think that he can order me around in my own home like he does the office, but eventually, my need to look into his eyes gets the better of me.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips in accomplishment, and I internally groan.

“Did you still fancy a trip to Paris?”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you’re grumpy in the mornings,” he counters.

I glower at him but say nothing as he picks up his steaming coffee and pulls out the stool beside me.

He clears his throat, and the air instantly shifts around us. Sure, it’s still buzzing with desire, but there’s something more serious there too.

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