A Bossy Roommate (Next Door to a Billionaire #2)

7. Eden

7

EDEN

“ W ho’s talking about sex?”

“You just implied it.” His voice is a low rumble.

“Hello? I wasn’t asking to have sex with you. I was talking about cupcakes.”

He doesn’t think eating cupcakes is a good idea. Instead, he gives me a hard look. I can’t help but suck in a deep breath as he walks past me. His manly cologne invades my nostrils, and I feel dizzy. A zesty musk. I have a weakness for citrus notes and earthy scents. As of late.

“Good night, Eden.”

He walks away, leaving me there with my head spinning. I take a deep breath to put myself together. Little does he know that I was left at the altar and that my secret dream of “forever” has gone up in flames. Even if Carter did know, he wouldn’t care. With another deep sigh, I go into the guest suite and change into the first nightwear I find: my favorite nightgown. Creamy white, a low V-neckline with intricate lace accents and beautiful detailing: it flatters my fuller bust. I’ve had it for years and it’s grown thin after so many trips through the washing machine. But wearing it brings me comfort when I crawl into an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place.

Speaking of comfort. The bed is heavenly, and the pillows feel like clouds. After a long, super-weird day, all I want to do is get some sleep. Unfortunately, my brain has other ideas. After a good ten minutes of lying here, I’m still wide awake.

After I spend the better part of an hour tossing and turning, I lie there in a huff.

Great.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Cupcakes. I think about the box of “Raspberry Euphoria Delights” and my stomach grumbles. Might as well celebrate alone.

I grab my white robe and slip it on before tiptoeing back to the kitchen. A quick search of the cabinets yields a plate to put my cupcakes on. I even find a small box of candles tucked away in the back. However, I can’t find a lighter.

Back in my guest room, I scrounge around my bag for matches. Voilà! Smiling, I step out on the small narrow walk-out balcony and place the box on one of the flowerpots. I put one of the candles in the cupcake and light the wick. I watch the flame as I shake out the match, putting it down on the box. “Hurray for my new job, my new apartment, and my soon-to-be husband.” I say the last part sarcastically, before blowing out the candle.

How did my life implode? How did I wind up as a fiancée in a stranger’s apartment, eating a cupcake alone in the middle of the night?

Well. It could be worse.

The guy could be ugly. Poor. Not tattooed. With a small dick.

I lean against the railing, enjoying my sugary treat. And I smell smoke. I whip back around to see that I didn’t put the match out properly and it has set the cardboard box on fire. Flames have started to consume the rest of the cupcakes.

Shrieking in terror, I drop my cupcake. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

I turn to put out the fire. Unfortunately, I can’t exactly pick up the flaming box of buttercream cupcakes with my bare hands. The flames grow and are about to spread to the soft blue curtains that are waving out from the open French doors.

“Ohhh…no! Oh, my God…”

The next thing I know, out of nowhere, a naked man with bed hair bursts onto my balcony.

“Stand back!” he yells and pushes me inside.

There’s the sound of a fire extinguisher, and a puff of white douses the balcony. I watch in amazement as the fire goes out, replaced by a mess of white foam, melted wax, and charred cupcake wrappers. Coughing and waving away the smoke and foam, Carter steps back into my guest suite, holding the red fire extinguisher…in front of his you-know-what. Like a nut case, the first thing I think is, he sleeps naked . I’m too distracted by his body, his tattoos, and his deep “V” to even really acknowledge the life-saving fire extinguisher he produced out of nowhere and how practical it was to stop cupcake fires. And also, unfortunately, how functional it is to hide certain things from certain over-curious onlookers (“gawkers”). But wait… ha! …is that his tip peeking out from under it?

Just when I catch myself staring (“creeper”), I realize how funny and ridiculous the whole situation is and immediately launch into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

He moves his angry gaze to me. “What the fuck, Eden?”

At first, I think he’s about to unleash some Hulk-like rage on me for trying to stare a hole into the fire extinguisher, but then I realize he’s referring to the accidental debacle I set off. “It was the match. I guess I didn’t put the match out all the way. I was just trying to have some fun with my cupcake.”

“Fun with your cupcake?” Carter sighs heavily, the extinguisher firmly in his grip. He shakes his head, exhaling in a sharp huff. “Another rule added to the list,” he says sternly. “Do not set my apartment on fire.”

It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes on his, and not slide my gaze back down over his muscular pecs, to his defined six pack, and to other…“aspects” that are definitely peeking out from behind the fire extinguisher—not that I’m interested in them. After all, I know what he’s working with. Like, precisely. I clearly remember what it felt like to touch, to lick, to taste his…

You can lower that thing—I’ve already seen you naked , I think, still reeling from the adrenaline pumping through my blood, and the humor of the situation, and the onslaught of graphic images.

Something about how his right hand holds the hose makes me think of how he would hold something else.

“What did you just say?” His eyes connect with mine.

OMG. Did I really say that out loud? You can lower that thing—I’ve already seen you naked? Don’t ask me what just happened. It must have just slipped out. “Hmm? What? Never mind.”

“No. What did you just say?” he insists.

“You can really work that thing. Thanks for saving the day,” I say. “I mean, you really are a hero with that fire extinguisher.”

He grunts, and the scowl on his face deepens. Since when is an attempt to trivialize a funny situation inappropriate?

“I’ll clean this up,” I offer.

“We’ll deal with it in the morning. Get some sleep.”

He turns (without revealing any aspects) and heads next door without another word. But I know I have just experienced a memorable moment—my burned cupcakes and a naked fire extinguisher-wielding bosszilla—one that will be quite a story to recall later. It sure was a euphoric delight of a different kind!

Also, I honestly have no choice but to take a “quick” glance at that firm naked ass of his as he walks out—unabashedly so. Two words: nice buns. They send heat rolling through my body. I almost laugh at knowing what my boss’s ass looks like. Firm, slightly hairy (the good way, not the full-on hairy monkey way). His legs are hairy too— swooooooon . The light is definitely better here than in my dimly lit motel room—which is always a plus.

I lick a bit of frosting off my finger.

It’s a good thing he left though. I don’t think I could handle another fiery drill today. Internally scolding myself for being oh so hopeless, I turn my back to look at the mess I’m responsible for. Instead of leaving it as he told me, I get to work cleaning for no other reason than to work off the sexual frustration that has started to develop.