Twisted Hate: An Enemies with Benefits Romance

“Still hate me?” I whispered, lacing my fingers with Jules’s.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she squeezed my hand. “Always.”

“Then please, pray tell, what do I want and need? Since you know me so well.”

Josh leaned forward until his mouth hovered near my ear, and it was all I could do not to pull back. My heart rumbled so loud in my chest I would’ve missed his reply had his voice not poured into me like dark silk, dangerous yet seductive.

“You want someone who can challenge you. Excite you. Keep you on your toes. And as for what you need…” His whiskey-scented breath gusted across my skin, peppering it with a thousand goosebumps. “You need someone to bend you over and fuck that attitude right out of you.”

. The first thing I noticed were his scrubs. It was my first time seeing him in his doctor’s clothes, since he usually changed out of them before arriving at the clinic. The blue uniform was too shapeless to be objectively flattering, and yet…

Something in my chest stumbled.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

My stomach knotted with horror. I couldn’t possibly feel…attraction toward Josh Chen. Not here, in D.C. I could chalk up my momentary loss of good judgment in Vermont to the mountain air, but here I had no excuse.

Any butterflies, flutters, and skipped heartbeats were unacceptable. Unthinkable. Downright disgusting.

But even though my massage therapist was professionally trained, she didn’t hit the spot the way Josh had.

Instead of looking away, Josh stared at me with an intensity that burrowed beneath my skin and kindled a fire low in my stomach, similar to the one that’d burned through me before I fell asleep last night.

I’d been floating on the verge of unconsciousness, but the combination of his strong hands, warm eyes, and the relief over my eased pain had sent my fantasies traveling down untrodden paths. Fantasies of what his touch would feel like on other parts of my body and whether his tongue was as talented as his hands…

“You were warm and there. It was instinct.”

The arm tightened around my waist and pulled me closer to him until my back pressed flush against his torso. My lips curved of their own accord when he let out a drowsy masculine rumble and buried his face in my neck. Meanwhile, heat bloomed low in my stomach at the way the hard, sculpted lines of his body molded against my softer ones.

The arm was nice, though. Strong, solid, and comforting, like it could protect me from anything, and it belonged to someone who smelled amazing.

I woke up to the faint scent of lavender and the heavy weight of a muscled arm draped over my waist.

What the hell is happening to me?