Page 17 of A Temporary Forever

She steps back and almost falls into her bed. And that gives me ideas and images I definitely don’t need right now. All of them include that flimsy robe opening wide.

I force myself to focus on the task at hand. “Give me your passport.”

“Excuse me?” She shoves the two sides of her robe together, fisting them. This is the first time I’ve seen her not flaunting her beauty around.

I clear my throat. “Do you want me to wait outside while you get dressed?”

She lifts her chin but ignores my question. “Why do you want my passport?”

“To send a picture of it to my lawyer.”

“Why?”

“To see if we can fix your visa situation without tying myself to you for the foreseeable future. And in case of a negative answer, to prepare a prenup.”

She snorts. “I don’t want your money.”

I chuckle. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

She jerks her head back. “Idiot.”

She softens the d and accents the second syllable, and the melody of it stirs my cock. I’m like fucking Gomez Adams, aroused by a foreign accent. Fuck. My. Life.

“Okay, Celeste, do you want to stay in New York?”

“Not if the price is too high.”

I laugh. “Most women would be delighted to marry me.”

“I’m not most women.”

“Clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chapter 6

Caleb

“It means you’re not most women. Far from it. You’re the most elegant, classy woman I know, and I mingle in the upper class. You carry yourself with a confidence that is so damn attractive I have to tame the fucking animal in me.”

Not sure why I’m referring to our last disastrous encounter. “But as soon as you open your mouth and spit venom at me, the attraction is void. So no, Celeste Delacroix, you’re not most women. You’re my sister’s best friend, and I’ll have to suffer your existence for a bit longer.”

Her cheeks pinken slightly, and her lips part. And now I’m wondering what her just-fucked face looks like.

She glares at me, motionless. It’s admirable howshe can be so completely still. It’s also unnerving. The silence stretches, filled with loaded energy.

Why do I lose my manners every time I interact with this woman? Why can’t I just help her out and go about my day?

She licks her lips, and I swear it’s in slow motion. I shove my hands into my pockets and shift my weight from one foot to another.

Is she going to pretend she’s a statue?

“You see, Caleb,” she speaks like I’m five years old, “that right there is the reason we should not spend more time together.”

We shouldn’t spend time together. She’s right, and not only because I keep insulting her. “I’m sure my lawyer can come up with a solution that will handle that concern for you.”

She stares for several more beats, probably considering all the ways she could get rid of my body.

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