The Billionaire's Touch

CHAPTER 7

Don't panic. You can do this for a day or two. It isn't a big deal.

Randi released a heavy breath as she watched Evan

shuck his coat and scarf, getting an eyeful of what a perfect

ass in a pair of jeans actually looked like. Holy shit! Evan

Sinclair's butt was a work of art, and his board shoulders

in the cream-colored fisherman's sweater he was wearing

seemed enormous.

He's not that incredibly built. He's not. He really isn't.

Evan turned around suddenly, lifting a brow at her as

he saw exactly what area her eyes were glued to. Jerking

away her gaze that was now trained on his crotch, she actu-

ally blushed.

"I can't do this,' she protested weakly . . . again.

She'd argued with Evan about staying with him at his

place, but he'd serenely pointed out that Hope's cat, Daisy,

hated dogs. She'd forgotten about Daisy and just about ev-

erythng else since Evan had picked her up. It was like her

IQ score had taken a sudden hit, and she couldn't think of

anything intelligent to say when she was in Evan's pres-

ence.

"Of course,    you can," Evan argued. "There's plenty of

room."

I can't be trusted to be alone with you, and it has nothing

to do with space.

"It isn't the size of the house," she admitted, unzipping

her jacket and shrugging out of it.

"Is it because you know I want to fuck you?" Evan asked

evenly.

Randi's eyes grew wide the moment Evan made his

blunt admission.

Moving forward Evan took the jacket from her hand

and hung it up in the entry closet beside his, talking as he

performed the task. "Miranda, I think we're both uncom-

portable with each other because all we want to do is fuck

each other senseless."

Randi couldn't seem to form any words, still shocked at

his straightforward confession. The Evan she was familiar

with wasn't a guy who said something like that. Generally,

he didn't say much at all.

He continued, "maybe we should both put it out there