Page 115 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

Dominic Crawford, the bane of my childhood existence, my teenage crush and former nemesis, was looming in the doorway of my bathroom, wearing a pair of black fitted dress pants, a black bow tie, andnothing else.

He was shirtless. Sporting a bow tie.

Like a stripper.

“What,” I gasped, so confused but somehow also smiling, “are you wearing?”

“It’s my butler’s uniform,” he announced with a cocky smirk. “You and I struck a deal under false pretenses, and I don’t think we’ll be able to move on completely until we even out the score. You spent around two weeks as my housekeeper, wearing an assigned uniform and doing everything you were told, so now it’s my turn. Tit for tat.”

I’d barely heard what he said. “Dominic, you look like you could literally tear off your pants.”

I shrieked with a sparkling mixture of bafflement and delight when he grabbed the fabric near his crotch and yanked. The whole thing came right off. Buttons snapped open, fabric went flying, and then he was standing there, looking deliciously ridiculous in his straining briefs.

What about this specific scenario was turning him on, I’d never know.

“What is even happening?” I muttered under my breath, wide eyes scanning his half-naked body.

He grinned, arms crossing as he basked in my ogling, proud of both himself and the abundance of muscles he’d accumulated over the years. The guy was ripped.

And mind-meltingly attractive. The most attractive, I’d argue. As would the cavewoman trying to beat her way out of my head with a club, frothing at the mouth with the desire to climb him.

I cleared my throat and glanced away before I started drooling.

“I had a feeling you’d like it,” he boasted.

My eyes were meandering over the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing I’d seen all week. “Obviously, I do. It’s hilarious. And as much as I appreciate the gesture, I’m not going to force you to be my butler.”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything. I’m offering.”

“Still.” I needed to turn down the water temperature before my skin melted off. The steam was fogging up my thoughts, making them harder to decipher. “It wouldn’t feel right.”

He’d suffered enough for one lifetime so far, as I was concerned.

He tilted his head, that all-too-familiar competitive edge dripping from his tone. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty positive, yeah.”

“Wanna bet?”

It was instinct, sharpened by a lifetime of competing with him, that made my eyes narrow and slide back to him. His widening, predatory smile made my hackles rise. Hot irritation arrowed through me, hitting me right between the thighs. I squeezed my legs together. It did nothing to fend off the liquid ache building there.

“Give me the rest of today,” he said, stalking forward. “Let me make my case by showing you what the next two weeks could entail, and if you’re still not convinced, I’ll drop it. The timer stops at midnight.” He stopped just outside the semi-open shower door, leering down at me. “Please.”

My fingers tightened over the handle, my neck straining as I raised my chin high enough to maintain eye contact. “Are you going to let this go if I don’t agree?”

“Doubtful.”

I eyed him. “What time is it now?”

“One thirty.”

So he had, what, ten hours to make me change my mind? That wasn’t too bad. “Fine, but whatever I say at midnight goes. No arguing.”

His grin was wolfish, glinting like he’d already won. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

We shook on it. Right before he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and pulled them off. They were tossed aside with one hand while the other gripped the edge of the glass door, pushing it aside.