Page 11 of How To Tempt The Off-Limits Billionaire

Was that a trace of amusement she heard in his voice? Squinting, she saw the quiver of his lips, the warmth in his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“You look like a walking, breathing dust mite,” Muzi said, his laughter flowing over her. Oh, yeah, his smile could power the sun. And, beneath his short beard, she saw the hint of two sexy dimples. Dimples were her kryptonite...

“And you have spiderwebs in your hair,” Muzi pointed out.

Spiders?Aargh, no!Freaking out, Ro lifted her hands to her head, bent over at the waist and fluffed up her hair, hoping to dispel the webs and, more important, their manufacturers.

“Do you think they’re all gone?” Ro asked from behind her curtain of hair.

Ro felt his fingers in her hair, a long curl sliding through his hand. “Yep.”

Ro tossed her hair back and met his eyes, dark, deep and oh so intense.

Later on, she asked herself who made the first move, him or her, but in the fraction of a second, his lips were on hers, his hand found her lower back and he pulled her into his big, strong, hard-everywhere body. Her hand curled around the back of his strong neck and his mouth tasted like peppermint and coffee. In his arms, she felt safe and secure, protected.

And yeah, his desire for her, long, thick and hard and pushing against her stomach, was hard to miss.

By their own volition, Ro’s hands slid up and tugged his shirt from the band of his pants, then glided under the expensive cotton, and she sighed as they skimmed over his muscled back, the deep dip of his spine. He was so warm, heat poured off him and flowed into her, making her feel like she was walking into a welcoming fire.

His mouth plundered hers and she responded with as much passion, wondering where this need to inhale him, climb inside him, came from. Needing to be closer, she pressed her breasts firmly against his chest, felt the deep groan in his throat and silently rejoiced when he bent his knees to wrap his arm under her butt. He lifted her easily and it felt completely natural to wind her legs around his trim waist. Muzi carried her to the credenza and lowered her to sit on the sideboard, his hands on her thighs, encouraging her to keep her legs wrapped around his waist. Holding her on the edge of the piece of furniture, Ro whimpered when his erection brushed against the thin fabric of her panties, her dress riding up to the top of her thighs.

Muzi stepped back, creating just enough space for him to bracket her face with his strong hands. “You are so damn beautiful,” he whispered against her lips.

How could he talk when so much electricity coursed between them, when the air around them, the dust and the dirt, seemed charged with energy?

She was without words, she was simply a big mess of need and want, punch-drunk with desire.

“Just kiss me, Triple M,” she murmured, her thumb running down the cord in his neck.

She caught a glimpse of that sexy smirk, saw his head dip to obey her command but then he, without any warning, rapidly spun away from her to release a huge sneeze.

Then another.

Teetering on the edge of the credenza, terrified that she’d tumble off, Ro scooted backward and winced at the feel of dust and dirt against the back of her bare thighs. Thinking that it was more hygienic to jump down, she landed on her feet and...

Muzi sneezed again. And again.

He looked at her with streaming eyes. “I think I have a dust allergy,” he croaked.

“I think you’re right,” Ro agreed, rubbing her hands on the skirt of her dress, wincing at the brown streaks on the fabric. Muzi didn’t look much better—his cream shirt showed dusty marks and handprints from her hands running down his wide chest. The back of his shirt would be the same.

Cape Dutch mansion, one. Muzi and Ro? A big, fat zero.

Muzi took her hand and pulled her from the room. “We need fresh air and you need to get the electricity and water reconnected before you set foot in this house again. And when you do, I hope it’s after you’ve had a tetanus shot and you’re accompanied by a cleaning company armed with industrial-sized vacuum cleaners.”

After crossing the hall, Ro pulled the front door closed behind her and sucked in the brisk fresh air outside. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

Looking down at her grubby hands, she grimaced. “Ugh.”

“I have wet wipes in the car,” Muzi told her. “Hang tight.”

Within minutes he was back with a pack of wipes and two bottles of water. Ro thanked him, yanked out a couple of wipes and attacked her dusty hands. When they were clean, she wiped her face and neck and grimaced. “I’d kill for a shower,” she murmured, “but I doubt any hotel in Franschhoek would accept me looking like this.”

“You look fine but that’s not your biggest problem,” Muzi explained, wiping his hands. “There’s a festival happening in town this weekend and I doubt there’s a vacancy anywhere.”

Ro stared at him, her spirits sinking. “You’re kidding, right?” He shook his head and she muttered a curse beneath her breath. “Dammit. Then I suppose I’ll have to wait until I get back to Cape Town to have a shower.”

“There’s another option...” Muzi told her. Her head flew up at his comment and her eyebrows lifted in a silent query.

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