Page 9 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

I curl my fingers into a fist at my side, "Why? Are you scared about the earlier reaction you had to me?"

"Reaction, huh?" He tilts his head, "I am sorry to tell you, babe, that kiss did nothing for me."

"So what was that column in your pants when you were plastered to me?"

He looks me up and down, "A physiological reaction brought on by my nearness to a woman, who," he smirks, "just happened to be you, in this situation."

Jerk.

He chuckles, and heat flushes my cheeks. "That's not true and you know it," I mutter.

"Is that right?" he drawls.

I draw in a breath, then jut out my chin, "Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove that you didn't feel anything when you kissed me."What are you doing? Did you just ask him to kiss you again? What the hell, you complete idiot.But do you blame me? That kiss...was something. And how the hell can he deny that it affected him? Maybe I'd imagined that crazy reaction to him. The only way to be sure is to kiss him again, right?

His glance drops to my mouth, "You sure?"

No.

No.

"Yes." I chuckle, "Wouldn’t be asking otherwise, now would I?"

"I don’t know." He leans in, gets in my space. "It seems to me, you are a sucker for punishment."

"And you’re avoiding the challenge."

"Julia?" Amelie calls out, "You guys coming?"

"Two minutes." I hold up my hand.

He smirks. "It will take us a lot longer than that to finish."

I peer at him from under my eyelashes, "Considering you haven’t even started—"

He lowers his head until his lips are almost on mine. Almost. His shoulders block out the sight of the room. Heat from his big body pours over me, cocoons me, pulls me in closer, closer. Or maybe it’s he who closes the remaining distance between us. Our noses bump, our eyelashes entwine. His lips part; I lick mine.

Then he straightens, "Sorry, not sorry, babe. You’re not my type. No offense." He turns away, heads into the kitchen.

I blink, sway for a second.What the hell? How dare he?He’s toying with me, is he? I pivot, march into the kitchen, "You stop right there, Rockstar—" Six faces turn to glance at me.

"Uh..." I flush. "Hey…" I clear my throat, "I mean, hello. I mean, I didn’t mean it that way. I mean…" I bury my face in my hands. "Forget it. Rewind. Maybe it’s best I leave... Come back in and start all over again," I mumble, then backtrack from the scene of my humiliation.

"Jules." Amelie hurries over, and grabs my arm. "Everyone, meet my friend Julia." She turns me to face the crowd of interested people.

There is a chorus of hellos.

I raise a limp hand, "Hi." I wave. "I’m Julia. Call me Jules," I shuffle my feet.

"Lovely to meet you, Jules," a woman with dark hair flowing to her waist calls out. "It’s good to have you with us for Christmas."

I jerk my chin, "It’s, ah, nice to be here too." I cringe. Nice? Couldn’t I have come up with some other adjective? Anything else to enliven the status of my boring life?

Thankfully, the rest don’t seem to notice. They turn away to talk amongst themselves. Everyone, including the rock star, who turns his back on me. Is that good or bad? At least, I am not at the receiving end of those glowering glares of his…the panty-melting kind, I mean… Which, I admit, I miss already. Damn it, why am I so shaken? I rub my fingers on the fabric of my jeans-clad thigh.