Oh my god . . . he actually threw me!

“Wait here for me. I’ll be right back.” He grins at me and takes off jogging from the room.

“Ozzie!” I screech, trying to get my breath back from that near-death experience. My head turns right and then left. I am still alive. Nothing’s broken. My breath was stolen from me a bit, but it’s back. I literally flew four feet up into the air on the first bounce off that too-soft bed. What the hell.

“I’m going to kill you for that!” I scan the room for a weapon. I swear I’ll use it too. He’s trained. He can fight back. If he chooses to let me win, well, that’s his problem.

His warm chuckles come down the hall from the kitchen, and instead of making up plans for retribution, I scootch back a bit and recline against the pillows, wondering what he’s up to now. I have a feeling I’m going to like it a lot, and I can’t help grinning about it. Being with him is like being at a crazy amusement park. I never know what’s going to happen next, but it’s always fun.

CHAPTER FORTY

I hear a tinkling of glass before he rounds the corner. He has a bottle in one hand and two tall champagne flutes in the other.

“I was saving this for the next birthday but figured we could have some now.”

I sit up slowly, a little stunned by what I’m seeing. Ozzie is usually so reserved. This enthusiastic, happy person is not someone I’ve met before. I have a hard time believing anyone else on the team has seen him either. To think he might only act this way in my presence makes me go warm inside. I think he really likes me. A goofy smile takes over my face.

He puts the glasses down on his nightstand and twists the wire cage off the top of the cork. “I hope you like champagne.”

I slide my legs over until they’re hanging off the side of the bed. “I do like champagne. I don’t have it very often.”

“I have a friend with a vineyard in France. He sends me a few cases every year.”

“Nice friend.”

“We’ve done some work for him.”

“What kind of work does a vineyard owner need from a security company?”

“Oh, they had some rare vintage stuff that was sent over for the president. We made sure it got where it was supposed to go in the condition it was supposed to be in.”

“The president? As in the president of the United States?”

“The one and only.”

“Wow. That’s just . . . crazy.”

The cork flies off and zooms across the room, distracting me from Ozzie’s impressive client list. I only see it again when it bounces off the wall and lands on the floor. Felix pokes his head around the corner of the door, and within seconds his eyes lock on that cork. He grabs it and disappears again. This means there will be shredded champagne cork somewhere in Ozzie’s house for me to clean up later. Sigh. At least the little bugger will be happy and occupied for a while.

Ozzie pours one glass full and hands it to me when the foam is halfway calmed down. When the second glass is full, he puts the bottle on the side table and lifts the flute. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

I lift my glass, wondering if we’re toasting my new employment or my status as his roommate. “New beginnings,” I say softly, making sure not to hit his glass too hard. With my nerves being what they are right now, I could easily shatter them both.

My first sip sends bubbles up my nose. I sneeze, and not very delicately.

He smiles. “You like it.”

“I do, I do.” I wipe my nose to keep it from tickling any more. My eyes are watering trying to hold in the next sneeze.

“This one isn’t very sweet.”

I take another sip and nod. “No, it’s dry, but I like it.” Now that I’m no longer sneezing, I can appreciate the taste. “It’s like drinking firecrackers,” I say, smiling.

“Never thought about it that way.” He finishes off his glass, holding the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds. He tilts his head left to right, swallows, and nods. “You’re right. Just like firecrackers.”

We continue with another glass each, the whole time just looking around. The more time that passes, the more awkward it gets between us.

“So,” he says, putting his glass down on the side table. “Feel like watching some television?”

The way he says it tells me he’s not really asking me if I want to watch TV. He’s asking me if I want to do that other thing we discussed before that intruder set off the yard alarm.

I put my glass down carefully, hoping the tremor in my hand isn’t showing too much. “I don’t know. Maybe. Is there anything good on?”

He shakes his head really slowly. “No. There’s nothing good on.”

“We could rent a movie,” I say, kind of teasing. I want to see what he’ll say to that.

“We could. But there aren’t any good movies right now.”

“There aren’t?” I’m trying not to smile.

“No. None.” He steps back a couple feet and slowly undoes his belt.

Panic rises up into my chest, into my throat, cutting off my air.

“What are you doing?” I say in a choked whisper. It’s all I’m capable of right now.

“Taking my belt off.”

“Oh.” I nod. Of course that’s what he’s doing. Silly me.

After he drops his belt onto the floor, he pulls the bottom of his shirt out of his waistband.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “What are you doing now?”

“Taking off my shirt.” He lifts it up over his head and down one arm with practiced ease, letting it fall to the floor to join his belt.

I gasp with admiration at all the muscles I see there. Holy shit, that shirt was covering waaay more than I thought possible. His body is beyond sculpted. It’s like a Mr. Potato Head workout body. Clip-on abs, clip-on pecs, clip on triangle-shaped muscle thingies that go down into the front of his pants.

Oh my god, he’s taking those pants off!

“Wait!” I yell, holding out a hand like a stop sign.

His hands pause on his button. “You want me to stop?” His right eyebrow goes up, and half his mouth moves up in a devious grin.

“Yes. Stop. Stop right there.”

His hands fall away from his pants and hang at his sides. His grin slowly falls away too.

I fold my hands in my lap and press my lips together. I have to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing. I need to get it all organized in my head before I start. It’s not that I don’t want to see him naked; it’s just that I’m not sure I’m ready to do anything other than see him naked. And it doesn’t seem fair to ogle him and then not offer him the payoff.

“Am I moving too fast for you?” he asks.

“You could say that.”

“Do you want me to put my shirt back on?”

“No, not really.” I cringe at my own honesty. How creepy I am. I’m an ogler.

He smiles. “But you want me to keep my pants on.”

“For now, I think that would be a good idea.”

He nods. “Okay. I can handle it.” He walks over to his desk.

“What are you doing now?” My nerves are frayed. I want him, but I’m afraid to sleep with him. Madonna’s most famous hit runs through my head, a little off tune. “Like a virgin . . .” Yeah. That’s what I feel like. A virgin. How that can happen when I’ve had sex at least twenty times, probably more, I don’t know. But it is. “Touched for the very first tiiiimmme . . .”

He opens up a drawer in the desk and pulls something small enough to fit in his hand out.

It has to be a condom. What else would he be bringing over here to the bed where I’m waiting like a non-virgin virgin?

“Can’t watch TV, can’t have sex, might as well play cards,” he says, climbing up onto the bed on hands and knees, stopping when he gets to the center. He sits, drawing his legs up, bent at the knees.