But instead of releasing me, he growls and moves closer, pinning me against the door with his body as his tongue slips into my mouth.

Oh wow.

My fingers tighten again on his shoulders, and it’s not to push him away. It’s like some dark, savage part of me is released by the taste of him, and instead of wriggling away and slapping him, I do the unthinkable. I kiss him back.

He freezes for a moment when my tongue shyly touches his, and he starts to pull back, but my hands go to the back of his head and pull him to me. When our lips meet again, it’s an all-out battle as our tongues tangle, each trying to take control. We’re like two sex-starved animals who need each other to survive.

It’s ridiculous. It’s wrong.

And I don’t want it to stop.

It’s only the vibration of Paul’s phone that has us jerking back, staring at each other in bewildered confusion. I raise a shaky hand to my lips before I catch how vulnerable the gesture is, and instead lift my chin and give him a defiant look.

His eyes rake over my body. “Get out.”

I give him a condescending look. “Please. If I ran away from every tepid, boyish kiss, I’d never have made it past junior high.”

I walk away from his enraged scowl, confident I’ve won this battle, but at a very, very high cost. Because I have a serious lady boner for the guy I’m supposed to work for.

CHAPTER SIX

Paul

I wish she’d give the door a pissy slam, but instead it shuts behind her with a quiet, dignified click. I tell myself her departure from the room is dripping with self-righteous melodrama.

My hands make fists, although I’m not sure if it’s with the urge to punch a wall or the urge to chase after her, sink my fingers into her hair, and pull her mouth to mine. Again.

It’s that second urge—and the memory of that kiss—that enrages me.

That went wrong. All wrong. I’d meant only to scare her off, the big ugly brute making a move, and instead she responded like a cat in heat. She responded like she wanted me. Which obviously was only part of her game, but . . . for a second I wanted her to want me.

This girl is toxic. I’ll play nice with one of my dad’s caretakers, but it’s not going to be her. Anyone but her. I’ll take a doddering old lady, a smug Bible-thumper, even a cranky tyrant, but I won’t spend every day with a girl who reminds me of what I can’t have.

A girl I can’t stop picturing above me, beneath me . . .

Christ.

I thought she was enough of a temptation when I’d only gotten a brief glimpse of her. But seeing her up close? She’s even more gorgeous than I realized. The threat is more than just that, though. She’s also bold, irreverent, and brave. That combination is even more alluring than the wide green eyes and that long, lean body.

How long has it been since someone’s gone toe-to-toe with me? How long since someone refused to defer to my “condition”?

And that moment when she looked at my scars—really looked at them . . . If she’d gone sympathetic or horrified, I could have dealt with it. I’d been prepared for it. But that sort of frank acknowledgment? That blunt recognition of Yeah, you’ve got an ugly face? It was oddly intriguing.

And that I can’t deal with.

I grab my phone. My father picks up on the second ring.

“Find a new one,” I say, by way of greeting.

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You’ve been through all of the ‘new ones,’ Paul. I’ve already told you there’s not a limitless supply of people trained in taking care of invalids.”

Normally I hate the word invalid, but that’s not the part that rubs me the wrong way this time. “Trained? You’re honestly trying to tell me that this schoolgirl you sent out here is trained in anything other than manicures?”

His silence tells me I’m right. “Okay, I never said she was trained. But she’ll do for what you need.”

“Which is what, wiping my ass?”

“Company,” my dad growls. “Someone to make you human.”

My head snaps back a little at his words. He’s right, of course. I’m not human. But hearing it from your own father is . . .

I start to hang up, but my dad’s apologetic sigh stops me. “You know the deal, Paul.”

“Yup. Hard to forget my own dad throwing me out of the house.”

“You’re twenty-four. Quit making it sound like you’re a defenseless child.”

“Your paternal gentleness is overwhelming. And I’m not backing out of our deal; I’m just telling you to find a different caretaker.” One who doesn’t turn me on.

“No.” His succinct refusal isn’t a good sign.

“I’m not backing out on the deal,” I repeat, keeping my voice carefully level. “I’m just asking to work with someone who doesn’t look like an extra on an after-school special.”

“It’s Olivia or no one.”

Olivia. Did I know her name before now? We certainly didn’t introduce ourselves during all that heated staring, and if my father mentioned her name before, I didn’t bother to register it. The name suits her.

In spite of myself, I wonder what her story is. Has she done this before? Has she helped some other pathetic, damaged loser go about the tricky business of living? It seems a waste, somehow. A girl like that wasting her time on the dregs of society.

“This conversation is over, Paul,” Dad says. “It’s three months with her, or the deal’s off. You lost the right to be picky sometime around running off the sixth person I sent out there.”