"How does it feel to be a millionaire?" He asks the second I open my room door, which makes me scream my lungs black.

"What are you doing here?"

His grin is wide. "I came to help you prep."

"It's Sunday. I'm not prepping till afternoon."

His eyes droop. "Yes." And before I know it, he's crowding me against the wall beside the door, breaths hitting my face. "I missed you."

I missed him, too, the bastard. "Who said you could touch me?"

He releases me ...