Page 100 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

“It’s tough to find rentals in this town,” I say sympathetically.

“The housing situation in California is insane, especially in wine country. It’s hard for me as a regular person—news flash, I’m not making Mrs. Monopoly jack as a cop—to live here.

The only reason I can is that my mom’s aunt gave this place to Shaw and me when she passed away.

She didn’t have any kids of her own, and the mortgage is mostly paid.

I don’t know what I’d have done without her generosity. ”

Derek nods then takes a drink. “It’s settled, then. I’ll set up a bonfire and make an offering to the rental gods that a generous aunt will come out of the woodwork and give me her cute little cottage.”

“Derek,” I say, a little sad.

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t say your name?”

“Don’t say it like that. With sympathy.”

I lift my chin. “Hey. I’m badass. I don’t have a sympathetic bone in my body.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. No sympathy, no mercy. I will find another place. It only took me a week or so to find this one, so I’m sure I’ll unearth something else just as fantastic.” His gaze wanders around my kitchen—it is definitely a cute home.

“How long was the agreement for?”

“We did a month-to-month.”

I reach into the photo album in my mind, thinking of all the rental signs I’ve seen.

Hardly any.

Then again, I didn’t post a sign. Rentals in this town are a landlord’s prerogative. I get to pick and choose because I have what others want—real estate to lease. I honestly don’t know of any other studios, apartments, or rooms over garages. “What is it you do for a living?”

“I’m a paramedic.”

“Oh God,” I say with a groan. “Couldn’t you have just said ‘billionaire’ so I could kick you out and not feel bad?”

“Sorry, kitten. I’m your regular blue-collar Joe. I’ve got some money saved, and a retirement plan, but for the most part, what you see is what you get.”

What I see is damn attractive.

What I see is downright appealing.

I can feel the wine weaving its way through and softening me.

We’re not that different. We’re two adults trying to make a living helping people. We’re not oozing money, but we want to serve the community. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Look, we can be adults, right?”

He scoffs. “What do you mean?”

“We’re not animals.”

He raises both brows in a question. “Speak for yourself.”

“Well, if you were an animal, I’m sure you’d be a leopard.”

“Jaguar,” he says with a grin.

“Okay, jaguar. Hear me out. I’m not trapping you. You’re not trapping me. We’re both mature. We’ve already acknowledged we aren’t looking to date or have a relationship, right?”

He nods emphatically. “Relationships are not on the radar.”

“But doing our jobs is. I have a room above the garage that has a separate entrance. There’s an entryway that leads upstairs, and the other door leads to the kitchen.

I need to rent it to pay my bills. You need a place to stay in an expensive town.

You’re here to help your sister and the community.

I’m here to help the community. We’ll be better at doing our jobs if we don’t have to worry about paying bills or shitty couches that give us a crick in the neck. ”

He lifts a hand, absently stroking his neck. “How’d you know I have a crick in my neck?”

“I’ve never met a couch that’s comfortable to sleep on.”

He takes a drink of his wine, looking like he’s considering this. When he sets it down, his eyes sparkle. “I hear there’s a king-size bed in the room above the garage.”

“Please. It’s not just a king-size. It’s a memory foam king-size.”

He groans, and the sound is carnal and delicious. “Fuck, Perri. You’re tempting me.”

I laugh, take a drink, then focus again on the matter at hand. “I’m not suggesting we play house or have set times when you need to return home for dinner, or what have you. But I think we should rise above the fact that we’re attracted to each other and solve this problem like grown-ups.”

His eyes narrow, blazing darkly. He shakes his head.

“What? No?”

He sets down his wine, stalks toward me, and takes my glass. He puts it on the counter. He threads his hands around my neck, cupping the back of it. My blood runs neon-hot, and my body turns electric.

His face is inches away, and I can feel his breath on me. I can smell the chardonnay, and the man, and oh God, I can tell he’s aroused too.

He’s barely touching me, but I can feel how hard he is.

My lady parts tingle, and I’m hot, wet, and wildly aroused.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he growls. “What this is? It’s not attraction. It’s stronger. More intense. It’s red-hot fucking desire. It’s raw and it’s carnal, and it’s so much dirtier than attraction.”

And I’m so much more turned on than I was a few seconds ago.

He lets go of me. I can’t feel the ground. I reach behind me for the counter, needing to hold on.

“But we can’t give in to it.” My voice cracks as I try to speak around the fog of desire.

“I know that.”

“We need ground rules,” I insist. “Like, we share the kitchen, but you don’t come down the hallway to my bedroom without permission. And I won’t go up your stairwell without your permission.”

His eyes darken with a dirty playfulness. “You can come up my stairwell anytime, kitten.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Me too.”

“ Derek. ”

“Fine. You can come up the stairs, but no fucking.”

“No fucking and no foreplay,” I add, though I’m pretty sure the way he touched my neck was melt-my-undies-off foreplay.

“That leaves . . . kissing?” he asks.

A smile teases at my lips. “Well, we do need to practice.”

“We absolutely need to practice.”

“The contest is important for my potential promotion,” I add.

“And I can’t let you kiss anyone else.”

“I don’t want to kiss anyone else.”

“I don’t either.” He grabs his wine and downs the rest of the glass. “So we’ll live together, not fuck, not engage in foreplay, just kiss.”

Too bad he just turned my legs to jelly with one seductive touch. But I do my best to keep my eyes on the prize. “Those are the rules. No mercy. No sympathy. We follow them, plain and simple.”

I extend a hand to shake, and he takes mine in his, yanking me close, but not touching. I hear myself whimper, begging for him to cop a feel.

“We can do this. We can definitely make this work. Also, thank you.” His tone is tender and earnest, and the gratitude in it tugs on my heart. “I’ve been dying at Jodie’s home, and I can’t wait to spread out and sleep on a proper mattress.”

I smile, glad I can help. “And you will love it.”

Our hands are still joined. We’re still shaking and not letting go. He grips my hand tighter, his gaze straying to my lips. “But maybe we should enter the contest in the sweet category instead of the most passionate one.”

“I can do sweet.”

He drops my hand, cups my cheeks, tilts my head back, and dusts his soft, enticing lips across mine.

It’s the polar opposite of yesterday’s kiss. A soft, sweet whisper of a kiss. A chaste kiss. A kiss fit for a public square, a library, a dinner out. A kiss you can take home to mama.

But there’s nothing chaste about my body’s reaction.

Nothing sweet about the fire in my belly and the heat pulsing madly between my legs.

When he lets go, I blink, dazed. “Let me show you to your room.”

He gestures toward the kitchen doorway, letting me walk ahead of him. I make my way to the staircase, and when I take the first step, he calls out, “Perri?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

I turn around, cataloging the naughty glint in his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”