When I turned to look over my shoulder, I saw hunger in his eyes. I could almost feel it skate across my skin, warming me like a desert wind. Whatever Wheeler wanted wasn’t in that fridge. He kept his back pressed against the door as if he were holding the wall up with brute strength.

I walked leisurely toward him with a can of soda.

“I didn’t like seeing you with another man,” he said with a throaty growl.

Wheeler hissed when I lifted his shirt and pressed the icy can against his belly. “What did you do that for?” Those sexy brows of his sloped at an angle, and I couldn’t help but find him wildly attractive when he was provoked.

“Remember what I said before about your tone? Each time you speak to me in that imperious manner, I’m going to punish you.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Is that so? And what about when you turn on the diva box? Are you beyond reproach?”

“My words are reactive.”

“Ah, so that doesn’t count. You can say anything as long as it’s on the defense.”

A blanket of silence fell between us and was so noticeable that I could hear a faint ringing in my ears.

“I’m afraid to see what your idea of punishment would entail,” I replied. “Subjecting me to more vampire movies, or perhaps shoving a stick of dried meat down my throat?”

He pointed at my shirt and stepped forward. “Your buttons aren’t lined up.”

“So?”

I gasped when he ripped my blouse open. Buttons scattered across the wood floor, clicking against the surface and rolling out of sight. The unopened can of soda slipped from my hand.

Wheeler’s eyes were provocative and predatory as he licked his lips, eyes still on mine.

“You ruined my blouse,” I said, sweetening my tone.

His eyes glittered with intent. “I don’t feel a shred of guilt.”

I reached down and lifted the can of soda. When I pulled the tab back, it sprayed him in the face. Foam ran over the edge of the can, overflowing and splattering on the floor. When I raised it to my lips, he knocked the bottom of the can and sent it flying out of my hand. I listened to the hissing sound of bubbles complaining as they spread below our feet.

“I was drinking that.”

“And now you’re wearing it,” he said, nodding at the droplets on my chest. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“What did I say about speaking to me in that tone?”

His pupils dilated, but he stood absolutely still.

“Take off your shirt,” I said.

“Why?”

My voice sweetened. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Wheeler stripped off his shirt and flung it to the side.

I stepped forward, lightly circling my fingers around his nipples. Wheeler had a light dusting of hair on his chest—just the way I liked my men. When I felt the tips of his nipples hardening beneath my touch, I pinched them hard.