Page 47 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

London drops her hands and glares at me. "That's what you think I'm mad about? The fight? I don't give a shit about you and your brother arguing. I mean, he almost killed you, and that was pretty fucked up, but I'm not mad about that."

I stop what I'm doing and face her. "Wait, this is youmad? I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, you're a dumb boy."

I stare at her, trying to understand what the fuck she's getting at.

"You're such an asshole, you know that?"

I run my sore hand through my hair. "I'm confused. How am I an asshole? I got into a fight with my brother because of you."

London crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm sure you would have fought him for anyone, seemed like you were just looking for a reason."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Did you not provoke him? Or am I totally losing it?"

"Your brother is an asshole, too."

"I mean, there's no denying that."

"You really don't get it, do you?" she asks me, her tone serious.

"I don't. Can you spell it out for me?"

"I don't know, Archer. Can I? Or am I dumber than a toddler, too?"

I blink at her a few times, piecing together what it is that she is and isn't saying.

"Or maybe I'm just a means to an end, a favor you never wanted, a disaster even? Or better yet…" London takes a step forward, the space between us shrinking and expanding all at the same time, the tension growing thicker by the second. "Maybe I'm just aspoiled brat."

Everything clicks into place—London isn't mad about the fight, she somehow overheard the conversation I had with Ivy out on the front steps.

"You eavesdropped? How?" I ask her, not sure why my brain is choosing to focus on that tiny detail.

"That's the angle you're going with, big boy? You're mad that I heard you say some shit you wouldn't say to my face? Just admit it, Archer, you can't wait until I move out. Say it to my face." She inches toward me, her face tightened with anger.

I move closer to her. "Youarea spoiled brat! Is that what you want to hear? It's not a lie, London."

"You are such an asshole!" London pokes her tiny finger into my chest. "I can't stand you."

"Great," I tell her. "I can't stand you either."

But in the time we've been bickering, we've somehow come closer and closer, until our bodies are almost touching, a hairsbreadth between us.

She tilts her head up at me, anger lining every word she speaks. "I hate you so much, you know that?"

"Good, I hate you, too."

"Good," she snaps back at me. "Then we agree."

"Finally, we agree on something."

I tower over her, our bodies swaying like magnets avoiding each other, the push and pull threatening to tear us apart. But instead, without even fucking thinking it through, my hand cupsthe small of her neck, my thumb next to her ear, my mouth pressed onto hers.

London doesn't hesitate, she kisses me back, her lips frantic and eager. Our tongues meet, dancing together like they're the only thing keeping each other alive. Her hands wrap around my bare torso, her skin fire against mine.

My cock throbs, my heart sputters, and I want nothing more than to throw her onto the bed and rip her clothes off, savoring every inch of her and making her climax so hard she regrets ever talking back to me.

She presses against me, and I drag my fingers along the base of her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging firmly. London moans into my mouth and I nearly come undone. But the second my arm grazes against the cast on hers, I come to my senses, releasing her immediately.

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