The Playboy Meets His Match. Sara Orwig

darkly.

      “I told you before that I’ve never promised a woman marriage, never taken a dime of a woman’s money. Please do not lump me with Dorian Brady,” Jason said, annoyed with her again. She was like eating hot peppers—tasty, but full of sting.

      “All right. I apologize for lumping you with him,” she said.

      “Thank you.” He placed his hand above her head, resting his palm against the jamb. Moving closer, he tilted her chin up. “You know, the night doesn’t have to be wasted.”

      “Wasted?” she asked, sounding breathless. He slipped his hand to her throat and discovered her racing pulse. He wasn’t waiting for her arguments or protests that he was sure would be coming. Pretzel twist or not, he wanted to kiss her. He slipped his arm around her waist, stepped closer and leaned down.