Free Best Friends With the Billionaire (The Rochesters) by Coleen Kwan

instead of a woman with feelings and needs.
    “So?” he asked, defensive. “That’s better than having to fight off sleazebags, isn’t it? Or being treated like a sex object.”
    Her eyes grew large, and she became very still in his grasp. “Maybe…” She bit her lip. “Maybe once in a while I wouldn’t mind being treated like a sex object.”
    Her husky, uncertain murmur sent a shaft of heat through him. His fingers tightened around her arm as his attention focused on her lips. Her mouth looked soft, inviting. What was she saying? That she wanted him to treat her like a sex object right now ?
    Before he knew it, he was pulling her closer. She let out a small gasp but did nothing to stop him. The night air between them throbbed with heat and suspense and a myriad of unanswered questions. His brain felt overheated. His body had taken over, and all he could think about was tasting Cassie’s mouth, touching her intimately, ripping apart the boundaries that demarcated their relationship.
    His head dipped toward her. She quivered in his grasp. He was so close to having what he wanted.
    But was that what he really wanted? If he kissed her, there was no going back. Once he stepped over the boundary, he couldn’t un-step it. Hesitation cooled the burning lust. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t risk losing Cassie with a stupid, ill-considered move brought on by a rush of illogical jealousy.
    He released her arm so abruptly she stumbled back a pace.
    “A sex object? You don’t mean it,” he said, his throat tight and rough. “You’re worth much more than that, so don’t you ever sell yourself short.”
    She rubbed her upper arms, confusion clouding her face before she turned a little away from him, her hair shielding her expression.
    “I was only chatting with the guy,” she muttered, sounding annoyed. “I was never going to give him my phone number.”
    “Okay.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, disoriented, dissatisfied. “Next time I won’t interfere.”
    They began walking back to his car, a good few yards between them, but to Kirk it felt like a yawning chasm.
    …
    Cassie tossed in bed, reliving the near-kiss that had ruined their night. Kirk had been so close to kissing her; if she’d only given him the slightest encouragement, it would have happened.
    But she’d hung back. She hadn’t done anything. Because she was paralyzed by the memory of her first kiss with Kirk, an event he didn’t even recall.
    It had happened two years ago, when she’d flown back to San Francisco following Alison’s death. She’d been shocked by Kirk’s gauntness, the hollowness in his eyes. He’d spent several long months nursing his wife, and the funeral on top of that had clearly taken its toll on him. Cassie had grieved for him, for Alison, and deep down, for herself, too, because she saw how much Alison meant to Kirk.
    Several days after the funeral, Cassie had gone to see him in the palatial mansion he’d shared with his wife. Previously he’d been surrounded by relatives and friends, but this time she found him alone, wandering aimlessly about the echoing house. By his bloodshot eyes, unshaven jaw, and disheveled clothes, she judged he hadn’t eaten or slept in a while.
    She’d made him a sandwich. She’d walked about the house with him. She’d sat and watched horror movies with him. Eventually he’d fallen asleep on the couch, slouched against her, his head resting on her shoulder. She’d let him sleep, taking comfort in his weight slumped on her. After a while she’d dozed off herself.
    And then, in the middle of the night, she’d woken to find Kirk’s arms around her, his body pressing on top of hers. The room was dark except for the eerie flickering of the television. She whispered his name, but he didn’t answer. He nuzzled her neck, his stubble grazing her skin. She couldn’t breathe or speak or move, stunned by his actions. His mouth trailed over her cheek, and then moved over hers, his