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

14. Eden

14

EDEN

T he bill is paid, and Carter drives us home. It’s nice to see him relax a bit. As the night has gone on, he’s started acting more like the guy in the motel room and less like my boss. When he opens the platinum BMW’s door for me, I tease, “I’m surprised you didn’t call an Uber for me. Aren’t you worried about us being seen together?”

“When we’re going in and out of the office, yes. But it’s a big city. The probability of one of our coworkers being in this exact same restaurant right now is slim to none. I’m not that paranoid, Eden.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Guess I shouldn’t take you out to dinner anymore then.” He smiles. Actually smiles. I didn’t even think Carter knew how to smile.

And what a smile it is. There are cute wrinkles around his eyes.

The smile makes his face not only so much more handsome but adds an extraordinary charm that makes my heart skip a beat. There’s so much warmth in it. Looking at him I have no doubt: his smile could illuminate the darkest corners and cast away all the blackness of the world.

“ No ,” I say quickly. “I’m kidding. Keep taking me out to dinner.” To strike a lighter tone, I add, “You promised to feed me before you married me. I take this promise very, very seriously.”

Guess what? His smile doesn’t only widen, he chuckles—actually chuckles—causing a warm flutter of joy to bubble up inside me.

“Noted, Mrs. Serious,” he rumbles in his deep baritone. “Consider it done.”

The back and forth is light and playful, the complete opposite of most of the conversations we’ve had this week. Also, I make a conscious effort to disregard any implications from him addressing me as “Mrs. Serious” and not “Miss Serious” (as if we’re genuinely married).

Up until now, I had been a little nervous about how this whole fake marriage thing would play out, but after hearing more about the situation from Carter and being given some background on him, I’m confident we can pull it off.

All of that is far from my mind when we get back to the apartment. I’m delightfully buzzed, and a teensy bit worked up from our flirting earlier. The idea of “no men or sex for six months” had sounded great at the time, especially when I’d found out another one had ditched me (at the motel this time) and was my boss on top of that, but after two glasses of wine and being alone with the same hot—surprisingly charming—man, my resolve has started to slip.

Hattie’s door is closed tighter than a pickle jar. She’s either dodging Carter, or she’s simply in the midst of packing up for her move.

“I have an important question we haven’t talked about yet,” I say, kicking out of my heels the second we walk through the door. I pick them up by the straps, playfully swinging them on my way to the couch.

“What is it?”

“Where did we have our first kiss?”

I flop on the couch, carelessly dropping my shoes to the floor and propping my feet up on the armrest. I sneak a peek inside the box of wedding cupcakes I rescued from the laundry room this morning and gesture to Carter to see if he wants to indulge. There’s just one left. When he shakes his head (of course, Carter never indulges), I close the box again. The generous swirl of vanilla cream frosting with that shiny, shiny strawberry on top is calling my name. I’ll definitely indulge later.

“Our first kiss? Is that relevant?” Carter is aware that we haven’t done any proper kissing yet (hot lip-brush moments do not count), and I feel that my question is legit. “It’s a pretty big step in a relationship. If your aunt asks about it, I’d like to have something to tell her.”

“We aren’t teenagers anymore, Eden. I doubt my aunt is going to ask when we kissed.”

“But what if she does? We should be prepared, just in case. Women never forget their first kiss, and they love to ask about it. Trust me, if she’s as curious as you suggested she is, she will ask.”

Stepping out of his shoes, Carter takes off his jacket and tosses it aside, regarding me curiously. I do my best to not stare at his lips.

“You tell me,” he says, “where you think our first kiss should be.”

This is new. Up until this point, Carter had made it clear he didn’t want any of my input. What’s changed? I almost ask but don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. I mull it over for a minute before I sit up excitedly. “Okay, it needs to be romantic. So, how about after our dinner, we decided to go for a long walk and kept talking. It was dark, a little cold out. I was wearing a super-cute blue dress—but no coat. You gave me your jacket, and then you leaned in, and muah !” I make an exaggerated kissing sound.

“How romantic.”

There’s a slight tease in his tone I ignore. “Isn’t it? Of course, not that I would know anything about what it’s like to kiss you.”

Carter raises his eyebrow at me. “Was that a hint of regret I heard?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was only stating the fact that we haven’t kissed, even though we had full-on sex together.”

He snorts at my phrasing. “Full-on. As opposed to what?”

My brain is too enlivened to come up with the answer. “Um…not full-on. You know. Subtle. Reserved.”

“I’ve never heard of subtle or reserved sex.” He lowers his voice to a sexy growl. “You mean teasing washing machine run-ins?”

Quickly, I shake my head, hoping to get rid of any blushing. “No. No. That wasn’t subtle sex. That was a chance meeting beyond anyone’s control.” I ignore the almost unbearable clench between my thighs caused by the memory of me sitting uncontrollably in my white robe on that running washing machine, legs spread. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s your loss, you know. I’m an excellent kisser.”

He smirks, clearly amused. “Is that so?”

“Yup. Best kisser in the world.”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“One that you can’t disprove since we haven’t kissed.”

“Fine. I believe you.”

I look up at him. What’s happened to Mr. Control Freak, and where has this agreeable man suddenly come from? “You do?” I ask him.

He loosens his tie a bit, then pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to reveal his strong, inked arms. Each muscle is defined like chiseled marble, veins subtly snaking beneath his sun-kissed skin. “You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

“Good.” I shrug. I get up, ready to head to my guest suite. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“I guess not,” he grumbles, observing me walk past him. “But to me, this whole interaction feels like a desperate attempt to get me to kiss you.”

“It’s not.”

“Stop lying. I know you want to kiss me. You can’t stop thinking about it. You wonder how it would feel. You’re curious to learn if I’m a good kisser. I’ve seen you staring at my lips.”

“I have not,” I tell him. Just when I reach the door, I decide that lying doesn’t suit me. “And even if I have, it was by accident.”

“Hush, Eden.” He’s by my side in a second. “Get over here now.” He pulls me back, and suddenly, I find myself face to face with him.

My brain shorts out for a second, and I stare at Carter, trying to process what I just heard. Did he just tell me to kiss him?

“Come again?” I ask.

“You heard me,” Carter says, casually leaning against the doorframe, larger than life.

His closeness has me frazzled. The scent of his cologne overwhelms my senses and leaves me feeling lightheaded. It’s a perfect blend of fresh orange, leather, and musk, screaming sophistication, confidence, control, and power.

“You said you’re the best kisser in the world.” He dips his head, but then he stills. “Prove it.”

I can’t tell if this is a bad idea or not.

I also can’t tell if Carter is messing with me. I mean, we had been teasing each other during our dinner, so he very well could be joking.

But he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

He stares at me expectantly, as if it’s a challenge. As if he expects me to back down.

Obviously, he doesn’t know me very well.

Without thinking twice, I raise my head and take his face in my hands. He’s way taller than me, and since I’m not wearing my heels, I have to stand on my tiptoes.

Suddenly, my mouth meets his.

The blow of feeling his soft lips on mine almost makes my heart stop.

I almost collapse. Worse. I almost black out.

Butterflies take off in my stomach.

A volcano erupts inside me.

Instant heat shoots through my body, and my knees buckle involuntarily, making me sway away. Carter catches me with his strong, muscular arm around my waist, dragging me closer against him while making sure our lips stayed connected. And not just our lips. His other hand slides into my hair, gripping my neck and head firmly, and keeping my whole body in place, flush against his.

Every thought I’ve ever had vanishes into thin air.

That magic of his touch and his mouth against mine controls my being. His lips are everything and more: soft, teasing, demanding. He tastes and nips at my lips until I open my mouth, feeling his tongue softly against mine before I have even a second to realize what’s happening.

Desire clouds my senses, and my body aches for his touch. When his tongue teases mine again, more demanding this time, I can’t help but let out a soft moan. Carter’s tongue pushes deeper, past mine. His hand falls to my ass, gripping, pulling me closer, and squeezing. As if on their own accord, my hands move up his chest and broad shoulders, fingertips tracing the contours of his muscles, until my arms circle his strong neck.

We kiss like two people who have been deprived of kissing for far too long. We make out like our lives depend on it.

The sensation of his fingers in my hair, both his hands holding me close, and his tongue inside my mouth bewilders all my senses, sends them into a whirlwind of blissful confusion.

My heart does the twirly-whirley.

My knees do the wobbly jellybean jive.

My pussy does the giggly carnival carousel spin.

My soul does the swoony moonlit serenade.

Sweet Jesus, this man knows how to kiss . This man isn’t just an excellent kisser, he’s a heart-melting-jaw-dropping-panty-wrecking kisser. He needs to come with a warning label.

Everything is suddenly way too hot and way too overwhelming, and the urge to tear my and his clothes off forces me to break the kiss, gasping for air.

Part of me feels cheated that I didn’t get his mouth on mine when we hooked up the first night, or when we got “fake” married, or when we happened to interlock in the laundry room. And all other moments in between.

Carter leans back against the doorframe, our gazes locked, both his hands suddenly cupping my ass. He just looks at me, saying nothing, his gorgeous eyes searching mine.

“See,” I say, breathless. “Best kisser in the world.”

Carter’s lips quirk, and he slides his hands up and down and around my ass, the strength of his palms leaving tingling feelings along my body. “I might agree with you on that fact,” he grumbles, his voice low and gravelly. “But best in the world?” One hand reaches up, pushes a loose strand of hair from my face and his thumb grazes my cheek. “Sorry, not convinced yet.”

Cheeky bastard.

I’m acutely aware of the proximity of our bodies and that I’m frozen in place, physically incapable of moving away. I’m also acutely aware that his hand has moved back down to my ass. He pulls me closer, pushing my breasts against his torso and his length against my belly, deliriously hard. Sweet Jesus.

Yes , I was the one to swear off men.

And yes , he did say our night together was one time.

However —that was before I had those glasses of wine and that was before I accepted his challenge to kiss him. Or was it my challenge? At this point I have no idea. Because that was also before my panties were soaked. My libido is in full swing, and judging by the hardness in Carter’s jeans, I’m not the only one.

“Eh…sooo…” I look up at him innocently, “how serious were you about that whole ‘not sleeping with employees’ thing?”

Carter arches an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but didn’t you swear off men and sex for the next six months?”

“I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“Hey now,” he rumbles teasingly. “One kiss and you’re throwing your promise to yourself out the window? Don’t you think it’s me who deserves the title of the best kisser in the world?”

“Oh, please! No. Look, I’m a bit buzzed and horny, and you’re hard and available. Tell me you aren’t interested in a repeat of our first night.”

Did I really just say that? Me and my big mouth.

I wish I had kept it shut and just let things progress on their own, because the second I challenge him, he removes his hands from my ass and gently pats my hips.

“I don’t know, you were pretty adamant about your rule,” he says, regarding me with an infuriatingly stern expression. “You shouldn’t break it. It wouldn’t be wise. You don’t want regrets.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I’m serious. Far be it from me to make you fail to keep your vow of celibacy.” He shakes his head and straightens. He really does mean it. Carter must see my disappointment because he grazes my cheeks with his knuckles. “Sorry. We can’t have that.”

“Okay,” I say without thinking, “just the tip.”

He stops mid-graze, his knuckles lingering on my cheek. The intensity of his eyes is stronger than before. His gaze is both intrigued and curious. “Just the tip?”

“You know, not full-on sex. Subtle sex.”

I have his attention.

The right side of his lips twitch. He trails his thumb along my jawline, then he lowers his hand.

“As in just-the-tip sex,” I add, as if I need to explain and he hasn’t fully understood. “Also, it’s not breaking any rules.”

He chuckles, grabs my wrist, and pulls me back to him, bringing me and my breasts and my very pointy and tingly nipples against his chest.

His tongue dives tantalizingly into my mouth.

After another excruciatingly shameless kiss, he steps back and grabs my hand. “To my bedroom.”

“Okay,” I say, almost forgetting one important thing. “Wait, let me grab the last cupcake for later.”