Misbehaving With The Millionaire. Kimberly Lang

thing. She’d lost what was left of her cotton-picking mind with that one kiss.

      One mind-blowing, toe-curling, too-good-to-be-real kiss.

      She retreated to her bedroom and closed the door softly behind her. Kicking off her shoes, she left them where they landed and padded across the carpet to the cool marble tiles of the adjoining bath. Cold water splashed on her face helped bring her back to reality, and a sigh-by-sigh replay of what just happened flashed across her mind in Technicolor.

      She closed her eyes and groaned. She’d practically climbed him like a tree. But, oh, what a fine tree he was, all heat and hardness….

      Gwen forced her eyes open, banishing the visual, only to grimace at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair stood at crazy angles, and a vague memory of his hands tangling in it and massaging her scalp stirred. A flush rode high on her cheekbones. Her mouth looked swollen. Water droplets glistened at her temples, and she remembered how Will had kissed her there, too.

      She could hear water running in the bathroom next to hers. Will was in the shower. That was all her libido needed to roar back to life—the thought of Will warm and slick and soapy….

      This had to stop. She visualized the place setting for a seven-course formal dinner that included a fish course and a cheese course. Keeping that image firmly in the front of her mind, she named each piece of the setting by course, hoping it would be unsexy enough to banish Will’s kisses from her immediate memory. Gwen grabbed her brush from the countertop and attacked the tangles in her hair.

      “Bread plate, butter knife, salad fork…” Six courses later, she’d managed to brush her hair and teeth and change into her pajamas without too much fantasizing. She turned off the lights and crawled under the covers. In the dark, fish forks weren’t much of a distraction, and she returned to her list of Reasons This Would Be Bad and focused intently on reason number one: potential career suicide. Again.

      Things had started out exciting with David, too—okay, he wasn’t nearly as tantalizing as Will, but at twenty-two, she’d been much more naive and David had seemed so perfect. Handsome, successful, charming. As the top student in her class, she’d scored the most coveted of all possible internships: working for the most prestigious lobby group in D.C. When David offered her the chance to work on a plum project, she’d jumped at the opportunity, even if it did mean spending long hours after five in the close confines of his office—just the two of them. She’d fallen hard, and thought David felt the same, at least until his boss found them in a compromising position in the supply closet, and she’d become a Washington cliché in seconds flat. She’d found out then exactly how much David “loved” her. He managed to save his career by painting her as a grasping opportunist trying to sleep her way into a great job, and when the project went to hell days later, he let her take the fall for that as well—even though the blame should have landed solely at his feet. She’d been too heartbroken to fight back—even if she’d known how—and between the gossip about her personal life and the speculation of how she managed to flub such an important project, her job leads dried up.

      Her broken heart had mended quickly thanks to the anger at being used, but it had taken a lot longer to get over the shame of it, and the five years she’d spent in Dallas building a spotless reputation had given her new perspective on the whole sordid affair. She knew better now.

      Then why had she ended up in Will’s arms, practically begging him to take her off to bed with him? She needed to be careful. Even if her heart could take another hit, her career certainly couldn’t.

      Sleep was a long time coming.

      Cold showers always worked like magic in movies and books. But the characters in movies and books obviously hadn’t been kissing Gwen, because the longest, coldest shower in the universe hadn’t removed the lingering imprint of Gwen’s body from his or chased away the haunting scent of her skin.

      Will toweled off, scrubbing at the chill bumps on his skin, and tried to think of something other than the feel of Gwen’s tongue sliding over his like a promise.

      The fact he’d practically mauled her in the hallway popped to mind, followed closely by the realization that he’d have no one to blame but himself if Gwen packed up her tea set and moved out first thing in the morning. He hadn’t intended for the kiss to go that far, that quickly. He just hadn’t been prepared for the desire that had slammed into him at the taste of her.

      Still…if she hadn’t brought him to his senses when she did, he’d still be happily pawing her in his foyer. Or maybe they’d have made it as far as his room by now.

      Gwen felt the attraction between them. That much he knew. She’d been an active and willing participant in that kiss, even if she was probably flogging herself with the inappropriateness of it by now.

      Provided Gwen didn’t hightail it out of here tomorrow at the crack of dawn, he’d start changing her mind about what constituted “appropriate.”

      That should prove interesting.

      His body still wanted to knock on Miss Behavior’s door and, well, misbehave, but it was under control enough for him to crawl under the covers and contemplate his next move instead. It wasn’t often that Fate delivered an interesting, attractive woman to his door like a belated birthday present, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

      Vague notions he should use the late-night quiet to break out his laptop and work for a while intruded briefly, but, for once, he was completely uninterested in HarCorp and business problems. He chuckled. There was a first time for everything.

      His plans for Gwen were much more interesting to think about. In no time at all, he found himself in need of another cold shower.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      GOING back to her regular life in two weeks was going to suck. Gwen sat beside the rooftop pool of Will’s condo building—a private pool only for use by the residents of the top three floors—and tried to read and relax.

      A striped cabana shaded her from the sun, and as she leaned back against matching pillows with a cold drink, she half expected a cabana boy to show up with a bottle of suntan oil and offer to rub some on her.

      Evie lay on her stomach in the sun beside the cabana, her feet moving slightly in rhythm to the music on her iPod as she conjugated a series of irregular French verbs. A Geometry text topped a pile of books next to her. Yesterday’s shopping, dinner, and movie extravaganza must have put her behind on her homework. One of the etiquette books stuck out at an awkward angle from her pile as well; a ribboned bookmark indicated Evie was about halfway finished.

      Fluffy white clouds spotted an otherwise clear blue sky, and a breeze fluttered the pages of the book in her lap. By all definitions, it was a perfect day. She would be relaxed and lost in her book by now if not for the constant sound of splashes coming from the pool.

      The noise wasn’t what was disturbing her. The cause of the splashes was. If she lifted her eyes from her book she wasn’t actually reading, she’d see the pool and the powerful body making lap after lap. Will moved through the water like a pro, each stroke strong and sure. The sight of the water sliding over his body sent her mind back to the thought of Will in the shower the night before, which immediately sent her thoughts back to the kiss in the foyer.

      Not that she needed much help remembering that kiss. The feel of Will was branded into her skin. She could still taste him on her lips. What little sleep she’d managed last night had only allowed her mind to carry that kiss to erotic extremes in her dreams.

      After such a restless night, she crawled out of bed early to head to Sarah’s house for coffee and a visit with Letitia. The spoiled cat curled into her lap purring and refused to move, keeping her pinned in the chair and under her sister’s inquisition much longer than comfortable. How Sarah had been able to tell Gwen had been thoroughly kissed, she’d never know, but Sarah wouldn’t rest until every last embarrassing detail was dissected to her satisfaction.

      Yet Gwen still didn’t have any concrete answers—not for why she’d kissed