He couldn’t recall ever being this turned on by a simple lip-lock.

But then she ripped her mouth from his and glared at him. “Travis! What the hell are you doing?” She was still so close her warm breath tickled his face.

“Being nice,” he whispered back, fighting the urge to simply sling her over his shoulder and carry her into the house. If there weren’t people in the gallery, he would have, but he wasn’t an animal. Not these days, anyway.

“Nice?” She sounded as if she were choking. Or maybe about to faint. He found he didn’t like either idea, so he steadied her by keeping his hands against the small of her back.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it, because we both know that’s not true.” He stroked his fingers low across her back.

She shook him off and stepped away, putting distance and a big ugly sculpture between them. “I would rather kiss a hippopotamus.” Unfortunately for Billie, her nipples peaked like beacons through the thin cotton of her dress, announcing her words as a blatant lie.

He made sure she saw him looking, and then shrugged as if he couldn’t care less whether she wanted to kiss him again or not. He ignored the twitch of his dick that made him a liar. He didn’t chase women and he wasn’t going to chase this one, no matter how her lips had felt against his. Anyway, after that kiss, he felt confident it wouldn’t be long before she came begging.

“Suit yourself. But can I suggest an alligator? You might find one of those more easily than a hippopotamus.”

Then, before she could hit him with some smart-ass reply, he turned and headed into the house, trying to walk normally despite the fact that his jeans felt two sizes too small.

—

Nice? Was that what he called that? Billie clenched her hands so her nails dug into her palms as she tried to regulate her breathing, annoyed that potential customers had seen her in such an unprofessional embrace. Even more annoyed by how much she’d enjoyed it. In fact, enjoyed probably wasn’t a strong enough word. Was there any such expression that could define the feelings Travis’s lips had ignited inside her? She’d never been kissed like that before. With strength and hunger, as if she were his last meal and he wanted to gobble her up before she went cold.

Yeah, right, a voice inside her mocked. Although she hated herself for it, she’d never be anything but hot around Travis Sinclair. It was a good thing she had to go out and do a ghost tour that night, because if she stayed in, she didn’t know what her wicked libido might entice her to do. Her mouth went dry at that prospect, and she swallowed to try and bring moisture back.

She had to remember who this man was. He wasn’t only the baddest boy she’d ever found attractive, he also wanted to sell her home and her livelihood out from under her. That was what really mattered here. How could she feel such lascivious things about him when he threatened everything that mattered to her?

“Aw, is this your dog?” asked an English accent beside her, jolting Billie from her thoughts.

She forced herself to smile at a young woman who was bending down in front of her, giving Baxter a belly rub. “Yes.” Traitorous little beast, she thought, as Baxter basked in the attention. His welcome of Travis a few moments ago was unacceptable. She’d thought animals were supposed to be good judges of character. Then again, she’d let the insufferable man put his lips on her, so she could hardly blame Baxter for his actions.

“He’s adorable.” For a second Billie thought the woman meant Travis, but then she added with a smile, “I love it how there are animals all over town here. We”—she gestured to another girl who was looking at some of the paintings—“keep seeing cats in the shop windows. Do you mind if I take a photo?”

“Not at all.” Billie shook her head and tried to focus on the woman. “I like it too. It’s one of the first things I noticed when I came here. A lot of people lost their pets in Katrina and since then, they’ve kept their animals close.”

While the woman snapped photos with her smartphone, Billie asked, “Are you on holiday?”

“Yep. Gap year. We’re backpacking the globe, working where we can and basically having a ball. Do you live here? Is this your gallery?”

Billie nodded. “Yes, and yes. Although I haven’t been in New Orleans that long.”

“That’s an Australian accent, isn’t it?” The woman stopped rubbing Baxter’s tummy and straightened. “We’re heading Down Under after America. I wasn’t sure I could handle an Aussie summer, although it’s pretty hot here today.” She wiped her hand across her brow.

“You should have been here a few months ago.”

The woman grinned. “I have a feeling I’m glad we weren’t, although there’s something so magical about this place, maybe I could have handled it.”

“I know what you mean.” Billie smiled wistfully, thinking about how the French Quarter had felt like home from the moment she stepped out of the taxi that had brought her from the airport.

“Did you meet your boyfriend here?”

“What?” Billie spluttered as it dawned on her that this time, the Englishwoman was referring to Travis. “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s…” A pain in the ass? Bad news? Possibly plotting murder? The best kisser of my life? “My landlord,” she managed eventually.

The English girl’s mouth dropped open. “I wish my landlord kissed like that.”

“No, you don’t,” said her friend coming over and joining the conversation. “Your landlord is a fat, balding old man.”

“True.” The woman screwed up her face and then both girls laughed, but Billie’s traitorous mind had rewound to the moment Travis had yanked her against him and put his mouth on hers as if he were staking a claim. Her knees wobbled with the memory and she didn’t know how she’d ever think straight again. It would be much simpler if Travis were fat, balding and old, but he was about as far from that as any man could get. It shouldn’t be legal for outlaws to possess such hard muscles and devastating good looks.

“Did you pay your rent early or something?” asked one of the women.

“Huh?” Billie looked at them, befuddled.

“The kiss? Was it because you’re a good tenant?”

“Um…” Truthfully, Billie had no clue what that kiss had been about and she didn’t want to talk about it with strangers. He was probably simply trying to screw with her head, so she wanted to somehow exorcise it from her mind. “Let me know if you ladies need any help.”

And with that she summoned a smile, walked over to her desk and flopped down onto her seat to try and pull herself together. She couldn’t let Travis get to her. No matter how much her greedy hormones had to say on the issue.

Five hours later when Rolley strolled into the gallery, carrying a box of beignets with the Café Du Monde logo on the side, Billie had never been happier to see him in her life. Not because he carried her favorite treats, but because she needed to escape before she lost her mind. Not thinking about Travis, his kiss or the fact that he was inside and would be more than willing to pick up where they’d left off had been torture. And impossible.

She’d labored through the afternoon, struggling to do the thing she normally did best—chat with tourists about the pieces in her gallery and the magic of New Orleans—because all she could think about was having Travis’s lips on hers again. And other parts of her body also. What kind of person did that make her? She had friends who waxed lyrical about their love of makeup sex, one of her old colleagues had admitted to frequently picking fights with her husband so they could have the kind of sex that only happened after a heated argument, but Billie had never been able to understand. When she made love, she wanted it to be just that, so why all of a sudden could she not stop thinking about what it might be like to fuck the brains out of Travis Sinclair? A man she barely knew and didn’t even like.