Page 30 of How To Tempt The Off-Limits Billionaire

“Can I have that in writing?” John quipped.

“Do you want to sleep with the dogs tonight?” Doc Kildare asked her husband, the twinkle in her eye taking the sting out of her words.

Ro caught John’s eye, saw his exaggerated grimace, and, caught between the urge to laugh and cry, started to giggle.

Seeing the light under Muzi’s half-open bedroom door, Ro gently knocked. When she heard Muzi’s command to enter, she pushed open the door.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice washing over her. He ran his hand over his jaw and glanced at the dark night beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows. “I can’t believe I slept for so long. What the hell did Sam give me?”

Ro stepped into the room and rested her hand on the back of a black-and-white wingback chair. His bedroom was a study in black and white: the wall behind his head was painted charcoal, his headboard was black and snow-white linen covered his bed. Huge black-and-white photographs depicting wild, desolate beaches decorated the white wall that separated the bedroom from his dressing room, which she presumed led to an en suite bathroom. Opposite him was a huge flat-screen TV attached to the wall. He muted the sound and tossed the remote onto the bed beside him.

“How are you feeling?” Ro asked, noticing that he’d dispensed of the sling Dr. Sam insisted he wear when he left her house.

“Not too bad,” he replied, crossing his long legs at the ankle. On returning home, he’d refused her help. He’d managed a shower and to pull on a pair of running shorts, but his chest was still bare. That was okay, she had no problem looking at his big body, muscles on muscles.

“Since it’s Sunday, and Greta took the rest of the day off, I made a chicken salad for supper,” she told him, rocking from foot to foot and trying to pull her mind off his fantastic body.

“Sounds good, but I’m not hungry,” Muzi said. He patted the bed beside him. “Come here.”

Ro moved to the bed and sat down on the edge, sending him a concerned look. A bandage covered the stitches in his leg and a butterfly clip held the cut on his forehead together. He had a scrape on his chin and his shoulder but, despite the hint of pain in his eyes, he looked a million times better than he did before.

“You scared me,” Ro said, internally wincing at the fear in her voice.

“I’m tough. My body has taken a lot worse,” he reassured, placing his hand on her bare knee. It felt good there, like it belonged. Damn, she could not be developing strong feelings for this reserved man.

She would not let herself fall for another person who would, eventually, end up hurting her. Love was a fallacy, and commitment was a concept that was, as she knew, flawed.

Muzi squeezed her knee and she lifted her head to look into his soulful black eyes. “Thanks for your help today.”

Ro nodded and half turned, putting her knee and thigh on the bed to face him. “I’m sorry I abused your fancy car.”

“It’ll be fine,” Muzi assured her, drawing circles on the bare skin beneath the hem of her shorts.

“Do you need me to call anyone, to tell them about your accident?” she asked, trying to ignore his sparking-a-fire touch.

“No, there’s no need to get Mimi upset. Or even involved.” Muzi frowned. “I hope Sam didn’t call her.”

“Do they know each other?”

“Oh, yeah. Digby and I spent a lot of time with Pasco growing up. His folks were still living on the vineyard they own—Pasco’s brother is the resident vintner now—and we were always hurting ourselves or hurting each other. Sam had to call Mimi quite a few times to inform her about my latest injury.”

“And how did Mimi take those calls?”

Muzi smiled. “With equanimity. She believes that God protects the stupid. To be fair, he did that a lot because we got up to some dumb stuff.”

“It was weird to see one of the world’s most celebrated chefs in ratty shorts and Wellington boots,” Ro commented.

Ro moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, her knee resting against Muzi’s uninjured leg.

“Pas is both farmer and chef, he was probably potting around in the greenhouse. It’s his way to relax.”

“How do you relax?” Ro asked him.

“Working out, reading...” Heat flashed in his eyes. “Sex.”

She saw the question in his eyes, knew that if she made the slightest move, she’d be naked in ten seconds and he’d be rocketing her toward an intense orgasm. But she wasn’t ready, not just yet. She didn’t want to sleep with him until she was very sure that she could treat him as a friend with benefits, a lovely interlude. Before she slept with him, she needed to get rid of these mushy feelings, the thoughts that something could develop between them.

Nothing could. Or would.

---