“What the fuck is that?” And where the hell had it come from? He steadied himself against the wall, his fingers closing around the edge of some grotesque fairy painting, and peered down at the thing that had almost resulted in giving him a broken leg. It looked up at him, teeth bared, a low growl emanating from somewhere beneath rolls and rolls of wrinkles. Travis had never been big on small dogs, but he had to give it to this one—it had balls.

Billie smiled that saccharine smile again. “This is Baxter, and I think what he’s trying to say is you don’t have a room here.”

“Well, Baxter.” Travis glared down at the pathetic excuse for a dog. “That’s where you’re wrong. In case you misunderstood before, Billie,” he said, looking back to her, “I’m the new owner of this building. And, as it happens, I need a place to stay for a few weeks. Maybe longer.”

“That may be,” Billie said, standing her ground, although he noted a quiver in her voice, “but I already live here, so you’ll have to find somewhere else.”

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head and made to move past Billie and Baxter.

She sidestepped so that she was in his way and Baxter bared his teeth even more, his growl growing deeper. “If you are my new landlord,” Billie said, her tone filled with disgust, “then you’d know I have rights as the tenant. You need to give me notice for an inspection and you definitely can’t just move in.”

“Sweetheart.” He leaned forward so he was invading her personal space. She smelled sweet, of some kind of strawberry shampoo or something that made his muscles tighten, but he ignored it. “No one tells me what the fuck to do. And if you can afford a lawyer, then you’re not paying us enough rent.”

“I…I…” Billie blinked, and her tits heaved up and down as she searched for more words.

He made no apology for looking, waited a beat, and when it seemed she didn’t have anything to add he tossed her one final question. “Can you afford a lawyer?”

Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head.

He smirked his victory. “In that case, you, me and Baxter are roommates.”

—

Roommates? Billie gulped, watching as one of the hottest men she’d ever laid eyes on swaggered past her and headed through the alley of paintings into the courtyard, and then opened the door that led inside to her house as if he owned the place. And dammit, apparently he did. That thought made her feel sick to the stomach, just as the way he looked heated other parts of her body.

Sophie, the previous landlord’s daughter, had told Billie when her father died last month that she had nothing to worry about, that it wouldn’t affect her or her gallery at all. But today’s unwelcome visitor told her otherwise. Having Mr. Arrogant Sinclair getting under her skin twenty-four/seven was very, very worrying indeed. And that was even before she considered what would happen to her and the gallery she’d worked so hard to set up if he decided to increase her rent or, worse, sell the building from under her feet. Just when she’d finally started to get her life on track something like this happened. Something like Travis bloody Sinclair.

And she’d been naïve enough to think she’d broken free from controlling men.

Trying to ignore her racing heart, Billie looked down at Baxter, who was looking up at her as if to ask what the hell happened? She bent to ruffle his fur, thankful that he’d at least tried to protect her from this arrogant jerk. Then she glanced around the gallery and gave thanks there were no potential customers lingering, before marching over to the steel entrance gates to close and lock them.

No matter that his dark gaze made her heart pound; the last thing she wanted was Travis getting the better of her. She hated that he was the reason for shutting up shop in the middle of the afternoon, but she wasn’t going to leave that wanker in her house alone just yet. She’d noticed the way he’d looked her over as if she were a piece of meat, and she didn’t trust him not to look through her underwear drawer. She didn’t trust him full stop.

Whistling to Baxter to follow, she retraced Travis’s steps through the courtyard and into the building. Her dog might be small, but he had a lot of bite and she felt more confident with him at her side. If Travis tried anything, she had no doubt that Baxter would sink his teeth into the guy’s leg, and the idea of him squealing in pain gave her a tiny bit of joy in what was turning out to be a very crappy day. Although more than likely he’d just kick Baxter in the teeth.

She stepped inside—he hadn’t bothered to shut the door—and although there was no immediate sign of him besides his backpack on the kitchen floor, her home already felt different. It felt…compromised.

The rooms at the back of the gallery were far too many for just Billie. In theory there was plenty of room for a housemate, but that wasn’t the point. She hadn’t advertised for one, and if she had, a guy like Travis would be the last person she’d get. She got the feeling that even if they were sharing one of the mammoth French Quarter mansions, she still wouldn’t be able to relax with him around. He’d stalked inside like a tiger and the sensations he sparked inside her were not at all unpleasant, despite her head telling her to be on guard.

The sound of doors opening and closing had her heading down the corridor in search of him. She found him, much to her annoyance, in her bedroom, staring into her wardrobe. And although she should have told him to get the hell out, she took her sweet time in announcing herself, choosing instead to take a moment just to look. Her earlier assessment of “hot” didn’t really do him justice. He had dark hair—not short, but by no means long, either—and dark stubble to match. Never before had she found a beard attractive, but his wasn’t long and bushy, and on him, it worked. So much so she had to swallow to stop from drooling. The dark leather jacket only enhanced his appeal, perhaps because it was so far from anything her ex-husband would ever have worn.

Pity he was such an ass. Not in the same way as her ex perhaps, but an ass just the same.

She cleared her throat and forced her itchy hormones back in their box. Now was not the time for them to awake from hibernation.

“This room is mine,” she said, folding her arms and glaring at him with more bravado than she felt as he turned to look at her with his dark, smoldering eyes. She shivered despite herself and almost forgot to add, “If you insist on staying, you’ll have to choose from one of the others.”

He took his time replying, his gaze sliding downward, scalding her body as if he’d actually touched her. For a moment she thought he was going to object—tell her that not only would he share her house but also her bed—but eventually he shut her wardrobe and nodded. “I always preferred the one next to this anyway.”

She swallowed. Of all the rooms in the house, he wanted to choose the one right next to hers? How would she sleep knowing he was mere meters away? Still, she was hardly in a position to argue and if it would get him out of her personal space, well, that was a start.

“Fine.” She stepped back and gestured for him to leave. The only good thing about having Travis right next door was that she could keep an eye on him. Or was that a bad thing? Argh.

Surprisingly, he obeyed, stalking past her and smirking again as he did. She hated that she caught a waft of some raw, masculine cologne, which sent ripples of need through her body, rousing places she’d given little thought to over the last year. How ironic that the first sign of life down there had sparked because of a man who seemed intent on messing up her life. Why were the sexiest guys, the best-looking ones, always the biggest jerks?

He didn’t head straight for his room, instead going into the kitchen, and she found herself following. Her hackles rose as he opened the refrigerator and leaned inside, giving her a perfect view of his perfect butt. Oh help me, God! Had any guy she’d ever known looked so damn fine in faded jeans? Her thighs involuntarily clenched.