Naughty Nights in the Millionaire's Mansion. Robyn Grady

      He groaned to himself. ‘Not just one.’

      When she unravelled herself from what remained of his grasp, he rubbed his brow. How could he explain that he didn’t need any more ties?

      ‘What I mean is, sexual attraction is one thing, but compatibility should be built on—’ He stopped, then started again. ‘When two people get together, they should be on the same page as far as—’ No, that wasn’t right. He took a breath. ‘Well, the thing is—’

      ‘That water should meet its own level?’ She darted a wounded glance towards his spacious living room and, beyond that, the priceless view. ‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’

      He exhaled. ‘I’m saying we don’t know each other very well.’

      ‘But you know enough.’

      ‘Vanessa—’

      As he stepped forward, she stepped back and held up a hand. ‘Please don’t be embarrassed. I’m a pragmatist, Mr Stuart. I know the way the world works.’ She reached around and took her torn card from the hallstand. ‘In case you’re tempted.’

      With infuriating good grace, she shut the door behind her. It took all his willpower not to call out and drag her back against him where she seemed to belong. He had wanted to kiss her, hold her… Damn it, in that moment of insanity, he’d wanted to peel the clothes from her body and make love to her, thoroughly and all night long.

      But, as he’d said, he barely knew this woman and his rescuing-damsels-in-distress plate was full. He shouldn’t get involved. In fact, he should thank his lucky stars it was over before it had begun.

      He strode to the wet bar and poured himself a fresh Scotch. He swallowed a gulp, swallowed another. Frustration winning out, he smashed the glass down on the counter.

      Like it or not, he was already involved. He wanted to see Vanessa Craig again. He wanted to listen to her stories. Taste her sweet lips. Damn it, he wanted to help.

      The six million dollar question was…