Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (7 page)

Portia’s breathing slowed and he found himself drifting off.

“What’s that?” she suddenly asked. He opened his eyes to see her sitting up in bed.

“What’s what?” This was why he preferred sleeping alone. No one to wake him. He could sleep in the middle of the bed. Snore. Fart. Scratch his balls. The usual guy things which stayed hidden until well into the relationship.

“That scratching noise.”

For someone who’d lived in New York, she seemed awfully on edge about noise. Wasn’t it the ‘City that never sleeps’ with its traffic and bars open ’til five in the morning? Guess she wasn’t used to nature. “Probably something in the wetlands. Go to sleep.” He closed his eyes and prayed she’d stay quiet.

“No. It was inside.”

No such luck. “I’m sure—”

A scratching followed by a quiet squeak and the scurrying of something alive sounded from somewhere in the room. His gut clenched. Only one thing creeped him out.

“Rats.” He jumped up and shook off his blanket, leaping onto the bed.

Portia laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of mice?”

He didn’t see what was so funny about dirty little creatures with beady eyes that carried diseases like the plague. “Mice. Rats. Whatever you want to call them. They all disgust me.” His toes curled as the creepy-crawly sensation of something furry tickled up and down his legs.

The moon cast a glow on Portia’s creamy skin and ebony hair falling softly down her breasts as she gazed at his chest. He glanced down at his shirtless torso then back at her face. “I know you didn’t want to share a bed, but I can’t sleep on the floor with Mickey on the loose. And I know it’s not masculine of me to cower in fear, but it’s a phobia, and I have no desire to try aversion therapy or hypnosis because frankly, I think my fear of the buggers is rational, so if you want to laugh, laugh, but I’ll tell you I have jumped out of planes, climbed mountains, skied down mountains, scuba-dived with sharks—”

A soft, warm hand settled on his shoulder. “Breathe, Ryan.” She inhaled and exhaled loudly. “Like this. Match my breaths.”

He stared at her chest and harmonized his respirations. The scratching and scurrying noises disappeared, so the only sound in the room was of them breathing as one. Her scent wrapped around him and he was suddenly tempted to bury his nose in her hair. His pulse slowed and his toes uncurled.

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and rubbed it. “Better?”

Well, after that anxiety attack, he’d just killed any shot he’d had of having sex with her. She wouldn’t see him as a threat anymore if they shared a bed. Meanwhile, he wanted her more and more, every moment spent in her presence. He rested his hand on hers. “Yes. Thank you.”

She smiled, lifted her hand from his shoulder, and smoothed out the blanket in front of her. “You can take the bed.”

“I can’t ask you to sleep on the flo—” A hand suddenly covered his mouth and he fought the urge to lick it.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor. You’re right. We’re both adults. I think we can control ourselves for one evening. I’ll stay under these covers and you can sleep on top with the duvet. At this point, I’m too tired to care about the impropriety.” She yawned. “Not that we’re living in Victorian England anyway. I mean, my old roommates said people of the opposite sex platonically share beds all the time in college. I didn’t go to college, so I’ll take their word for it.”

In college, the only reason a guy and girl slept in the same bed without having sex was because one or both were gay, or the girl refused. No heterosexual guy would fail to make a move on any girl in his bed, attracted to her or not. That’s why he’d avoided getting into that particular spot. He didn’t want to be one of those guys who took advantage of the situation and give the girl the wrong idea. Not like Braden did.

“I promise I won’t make a move on you.” He climbed off the bed, scooped up the bedding. As Portia watched him, licking her lips, and running her fingers through her hair, he arranged a space for himself on the left side of the bed.

She fell back onto her pillow. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

Was that disappointment in her voice?

“Goodnight, Ryan,” she whispered.

He drew the blanket over his shoulders and turned to face the wall. “Goodnight, Portia.” For the first time in his life, he was going to sleep next to a woman and not touch her. And he’d never wanted a woman more.

Chapter 7

In terms of choice I am not solely led

By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes.

William Shakespeare,
Merchant of Venice
, act 2, scene 1

Light streamed in the room, waking Portia from her restless sleep. Yawning, she reluctantly opened her eyes. How could it be morning? She couldn’t have fallen asleep more than a couple of hours ago.

Now she understood why she’d never slept with a guy. Ryan had conked out ten minutes after getting into bed, squashing any belief she might have had that he might be attracted to her. On the other hand, she’d lain awake all night, listening to the sounds of crickets chirping, wondering if the scurrying noises were getting any closer.

There was a reason she didn’t take the floor when Ryan came to bed. She wasn’t fond of anything resembling a mouse either. But she didn’t want to admit it, preferring to have something to hold over his head. Now that she’d found a weakness in his perfect veneer, she’d extort it for all it was worth.

As she lay there, she began to make a list of all the items they’d need to get to today. First thing, they’d have to call the power company. The next order of business was to buy a bed. She didn’t think she could handle another sleepless night beside Ryan . . . unless she had a more enjoyable reason for the lack of rest.

Shifting her body slightly, her butt came across something warm and solid.
Was that what she thought it was?
Her heart sped up and heat spread to her core. Afraid to look behind her, she tried to remain controlled. She’d heard of men waking up ready and willing, but the size of that thing was ridiculously large.
And, oh, so tempting.

Maybe he was awake, lying there thinking of her. Wanting her, but not knowing how to make the first move. After all, she’d told him straight out that nothing could happen between them, and he’d readily and expeditiously agreed, to her consternation. She had to admit, she’d hoped he’d argue with her a little. Show her she wasn’t alone in feeling the sexual electricity running between them. But not only had he agreed, he’d flirted with her sister. But now he lay curled behind her with a very impressive erection, and she had to wonder if it was for her or just his regular state each morning.

Should she turn around and check to see if he was awake? She peaked down, not surprised to see blotchy pink spots of anxiety all over her chest. No one could ever accuse her of being seductive because she didn’t know the first thing about how to entice a man into sex. Her sister had once explained men were like dogs, and if you wanted them in your bed, all you needed to do was snap your fingers and command them to “come.” Then again, her sister didn’t allow fear to keep her from achieving her goals. If she wanted something, she took it regardless of the consequences. Portia had to consider it from every angle before she’d make a move, and usually by that time, she’d lost whatever it was she’d wanted in the first place.

And there was no denying she wanted Ryan. She’d already created a pros and cons list in her head as to sex. So far, they were evenly matched. On the pro side, she’d listed: orgasms; stress relief; increased serotonin; exercise; and seeing him naked. On the con side, she’d listed: he’d see
her
naked; what if he failed to give her an orgasm?; awkwardness; sweat; and she wasn’t sure when she’d last shaved her legs. But the pro that could outdo any con?
Ryan wanting her
.

There was only one way of finding out. “Ryan?” she whispered, not wanting to disturb him if he was indeed sleeping.

“Yeah?” he responded from across the room.

Across the room?

Her head twisted to see a shirtless Ryan with a towel wrapped around his waist. At the same moment she began drooling as she drunk in the gorgeous sight of beads of water dripping down his amazingly toned six-pack and headed for the treasure trail to the promised land, she also realized the “affection” currently nudging her ass did not belong to Ryan. So she did what every rational woman would do when waking up with something poking into her. She slowly and carefully reached around to identify the something.

Not only was the something warm and solid.

It was furry.

Screaming, she bolted out of bed and ran straight for Ryan. His eyes widened as she barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and tackling him to the ground.

He grinned, looking mildly amused by her outburst. “Problem?”

“Fur,” she managed to rasp out, her body shuddering. “In the bed. Not you. Fur.” He stared blankly at her. She took a deep breath to calm herself and then said, “Rat.”

The blank stare bled into one of horror as he finally understood what she was trying to explain. His golden skin went pasty, his normally lush lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

Studying his face, her fear melted away, turning into a heat which spread from her head down to her toes, the majority concentrated in that soft part of her which lined up perfectly against the hard part of him.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this position,” he said, his eyes fluttering down to look at the narrow space between their bodies and then back up, “but we really should kill whatever rodent is sleeping in our bed.”

She nodded, feeling slightly foolish for continuing to lay on him. Pushing off with her hands, she got up as carefully as possible, taking special care as to not knee him in the groin. Her heart raced, and at this point, she wasn’t sure if it was due to the surprise guest in their bed, or a reaction to the visual of his gorgeous body. She held out a hand and he took it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles so quickly she thought she must’ve imagined it. He entwined their fingers and she pulled him to his feet. Although they stood a foot away from each other, she could still feel him against her skin and smell his soap as if he had branded himself into her body. Whether frozen from lust or fear or a combination of both, she took him in as if he were a Greek statue and she an art aficionado.

Sure, she’d seen plenty of muscled men in the dancing world. After all, the male dancers had to have the strength to lift and hold their partners over their heads. Their bodies were their instruments, although with egos bigger than Texas, they believed their bodies were their temples that mere mortals should worship. With that attitude, it didn’t matter how perfectly formed they were, Portia didn’t pay attention. She preferred modest men. Oh, and straight, which was a rarity in her world.

Ryan’s body was indeed a work of art, and for a moment, she forgot why she’d tackled him in the first place. Until the lump in the bed moved.

She flinched and grabbed his arm. “Kill it.”

His gaze searched the room. “With what?” He smiled as he found an item suitable for killing Mickey and he started off in the direction of the nightstand next to the bed.

On tiptoes, she followed, cringing with each step she took as she got closer and closer to the terror hidden under the blankets.

He picked up the beautiful stained-glass Tiffany lamp sitting on the nightstand and held it high in the air, ready to bash in the brains of their little friend. “On the count of three, I want you to pull back the blanket.”

Oh, she so did not want to do this. She forced her hand to the edge of the blanket and took a deep breath.

“One . . . two . . . three!”

She yanked off the blanket, expecting the rodent to scurry off to his escape. Instead, the large lump of silver fur didn’t move at all, obviously content to sleep soundly on the bed, indifferent to the humans’ fears. She squinted and moved closer. It was purring.

Ryan laughed, obviously relieved. “Zeus?”

What the heck was a cat doing in the bed? She dropped the blanket and pivoted to Ryan. “Yours?”

He shook his head and lowered the lamp back to the nightstand. Thank goodness they didn’t have to damage it. “Nah. He is—was—Uncle Al’s. Lord, he must be somewhere around twenty years old. I would’ve thought he’d be dead by now. Especially since no one’s lived here for months.”

The cat opened his eyes as if he understood the comment and daintily licked a paw.

“He looks alive to me. I’m guessing he’s the ‘rat’ we heard last night.” She moved to pet him, but Ryan caught her shoulder.

“He bites.”

“He slept curled up to me and didn’t take a nibble.” She gave him a smile. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you.” On her hands and knees, she crawled on the bed and gently placed a hand on the cat’s huge belly. The cat made a noise similar to a sigh and continued purring, closing his eyes. “See? He’s harmless.”

“Tell that to my brother and his scar.” He covered his nose with his hand and sneezed. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I’m allergic. We’ll have to drop him off at the shelter this morning. I can stop and get some coffee on the way back. How do you take it?”

She stroked the cat’s silver fur as he continued to give himself a tongue bath. Her mother hadn’t allowed them to have a pet since they constantly moved from place to place. She’d believed it wouldn’t be fair to the animal since animals needed to run wild and free, not sit around in a cage waiting for a human to feed it. Luckily, her mom had loved animals enough to bring her daughters to the animal shelters to volunteer. Portia loved taking dogs on walks and throwing a ball high in the air for the dog to catch. She often felt like those dogs. Trapped and reliant on someone else to care for her. No matter how free her mother claimed them to be, Portia and Viola had lived in a cage of their mother’s making.

“We can’t take Zeus to a shelter. No one would adopt an twenty-year-old cat. They’d euthanize him.” The cat stopped licking his paw and butted his head against her hand. “See? Look how sweet and docile he is.” She rubbed the spot between his ears and his tail wagged up and down, whipping the bed. “Please?”

Ryan ran his fingers through his hair. “Fine. I’ll take an allergy pill, and as long as he stays away from me, I should manage. But as of now, he’s your cat. You feed him and deal with the litter box. I don’t want to know where he’s been going to the bathroom in this house or what he’s been eating.” Holding his towel closed, he traipsed toward the closets.

She patted the cat on his belly and then went to her suitcase, crouching down to open it. Since she’d get dirty later, she decided to wait on the shower and chose clothes to wear for the day. “I’ve been thinking we should work on the kitchen first. It’s disgusting in there and if we don’t have any rodents, we will soon if the dishes aren’t cleaned. I’m not certain anything is salvageable.”

“No, we need to start with the frame of the house. You know, work our way in. We don’t need the kitchen right now. It’s important to make sure we fix the leaks first,” he called out, his voice carrying from one of the closets.

Deciding he’d take a couple minutes to dress, she figured she was safe to change. She shimmied off her plaid pajama pants and underwear and put on a clean pair of undies and jeans. “I disagree. I don't have the money to eat out every meal and when it comes time to sell the house, women consider the kitchen the most important part.”

“Women aren’t the ones who are going to fork over the money for the mansion. Their husbands are,” he answered nonchalantly.

Zipping up her jeans, she tried to contain her anger. “That is completely sexist. First, women are as capable of buying a home as a man, and second, modern men also place importance on the kitchen. It’s considered the heart of the home. A husband and wife will make the decision together, but more often than not, the man will concede to his wife.”

He laughed. “Oh, I believe that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zeus stopped his tongue bath and twisted his head to glance at her then ran out the door of the room.

Ryan sighed loud enough she heard it from across the room through the closet door. “I didn’t mean anything more than the truth. A man will give into his wife more often than not in order to keep the peace.”

“And you don’t think wives do the same for their husbands?” She yanked her tank top over her head and grabbed her bra. Wrapping it around her chest, her irritation at Ryan increased.

He didn’t respond for a moment. “I didn’t say that,” he finally said.

“Then what did you mean?” She scooped her shirt off the bed. It was an old and ratty vintage T-shirt and seemed appropriate for a day of cleaning. She lifted her arms and dropped the shirt over her head just as Ryan stepped back into the room.

“I only meant—” He stopped, his eyes growing wide. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were getting dressed.” Although he said the words, he didn’t look away.

Her shirt skimmed over her sides. Did he catch a glimpse of her belly button ring? Darn, she just knew she was blushing. “It’s fine. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” For Pete’s sake, she’d worn a bra. Of course, the bra was sheer but honestly, what was the big deal? So he saw her breasts. There wasn’t much to see anyway.

She gathered her courage and looked him straight in the eye. Their gazes locked, and suddenly, she felt much more exposed than if she stood naked before him. Her insides twisted and rolled as though she were on one of those rides at the amusement park which dropped you from two hundred feet in the air.

A slow smile spread on his face. “Nope. Didn’t see a thing.” He sauntered to the bed and began making it, pulling up the blankets. “So it seems as though we both have different ideas of what we’d like to tackle first on the house. Why don’t we split the chores? I’ll start with the roof, the pipes, and drywall, while you work on the kitchen, bathrooms, and whatever else you come across.”

While she appreciated him changing the subject, she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought about what he did see. As a dancer, she’d always kept her body thinner than she preferred. Whoever said muscle weighed more than fat lied because since she’d quit dancing, she’d replaced muscle with fat and she weighed five pounds more, all in her thighs. She hoped she’d gain a little in her chest area, but a quick glance down at her chest confirmed she’d not grown even a smidge in the last month. Heck, she hadn’t increased her bra size since she’d sprouted breasts overnight at thirteen years old. She’d worn the same bras from middle school through high school. Her mom was happy to point out that Portia hadn’t stretched them out at all so why waste money on new ones? And it wasn’t as if anyone else was going to see them.