A generation next job. What other profession would a self-made rich kid have? "Of course you do." She let go of his bicep and scooted away. "You have to go."

Surprise swept across his strong features. "What? Why?"

Because every word that comes out of your mouth reminds me of how old I am. A woman who grew up with Pacman and Donkey Kong should not want to jump a modern gamer. "Because I'm out of my mind to be here, with you, like this." She forced herself to rise, to move away from the bed and the illogical allure of his presence.

He stood, blocking the narrow path to the door. "Tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong? Every time I'm around you, I start thinking things I shouldn't, that's what."

"Really? Anything you'd like to share?"

His cheeky grin teased her senses. She longed to kiss it, to soak up his sexiness for later. "Get out of my room, brat."

He trailed a finger down the side of her face and across to slowly outline her lips. Heat pooled hot and heavy between her legs. "Don't send me away, Jess. Not when I want to stay so very much."

How did he know exactly what to say? Did someone teach that to young men? Guys of her generation didn't have a clue for the most part. "Damn it, kid. I'm twice your age."

"You are not, and even if you were, who cares?"

"I don't want to want you."

"But you do. I see it."

"Bullshit."

His grin flashed again. "When you look at me, you lean ever so slightly forward, and your nipples tighten under your top."

"They do not."

"Do, too." He chuckled and edged closer. His long, muscular hands circled her waist and kept her from collapsing in an embarrassing puddle at his feet. "You also lick your lips, wetting them for my kiss. I wonder where else you're ready for me."

Everywhere. "Damn it, what do you want?"

He brushed his mouth over hers, more graze than touch. "I want you. Plain and simple."