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this.”
     
    “Kitchens are pretty much the same. It’s not rocket science.”
     
    Pia laughed. “Hardly. Have you ever even been in a kitchen this size?”
     
    He said nothing, but his expression fell into a glare and he crossed his arms.
     
    “That’s what I thought. Do you know what a double oven is or why it’s used?”
     
    He continued to glare, so she continued to push.
     
    “I bet your mama’s kitchen didn’t even have a dishwasher. We have two. And a smart refrigerator and a walk-in freezer. Oh, and the coffee makers. They practically make your coffee for you.”
     
    “Like you would know. Don’t you have people who do that for you?”
     
    “Well, yes. So, I guess the coffee makes itself for them. It does tea also, but I guess you don’t drink tea or wine or anything that would indicate any sliver of class. It’s all beer and sugary sodas for you, isn’t it?”
     
    “Don’t act like you know anything about me.”
     
    “Oh really? Okay, Mr. Hotshot. What’s the difference between French press and drip coffee? Or between green tea and black tea? Did you even know there was black tea or were you raised in a barn with the other pigs and nasty animals?”
     
    “Enough,” he growled.
     
    His eyebrows lowered and one of his eyes gave a slight twitch. She almost smiled at this. She’d managed to irritate him and she liked it. Good. He needed to be shaken up and agitated. He sure did a fair job of annoying her. What was a little payback?
     
    Pia suddenly had a burning desire to see what he was like angry. For real angry, like he was ready to fight. Would he hit her? That would get him fired real fast. But maybe, just maybe, he’d throw her against the wall again and press against her. Maybe he would kiss her and her fantasies would come true.
     
    Her mouth pulled into a crooked smile. What was the worst thing she could say to him? What would get him the maddest? She would push every one of his buttons until she hit it. Until he exploded.
     
    There was no losing for her. This could go one of two ways. One, he’d flip and hurt her, which would get him fired, probably even killed, but certainly out of her life forever. Which was fine. She still didn’t need him tagging around her all day. Or, he’d kiss her, maybe even force things farther. At that thought, she felt the wetness between her legs. It half disgusted her that she wanted him so badly. This trashy low class grunt. He’d taint her if he entered her, yet the idea of feeling his strong muscles around her and him inside her made her so hot, she couldn’t stand it. If he kissed her, she’d get what she really wanted. And she could still get him fired by telling her father if he ever pissed her off and she needed more serious payback. There was no losing.
     
    She crossed her arms, cocked her hip to the side, dropped her head slightly, and took aim, focusing in on him with her cold stare. Then she fired. “I don’t know how a little white trash boy from the ghetto got a job with the mafia anyway. You don’t belong here. You belong in a trash heap. Why don’t you go back there and play with someone your own class?”
     
    The rage flickered in his eyes. He stepped toward her. She breathed in and her arms fell. Her heart jumped as he came closer. Part fear, part exhilaration, all desire.
     
    He reached out and grabbed her waist with both hands. He yanked her close, until his face was just inches from hers.
     
    Kiss me , she pleaded. But she held her glare and pushed against him to break free. “Let go of me,” she demanded.
     
    She put her hands on his hot forearms and pushed. He didn’t budge. She pushed against his chest with all her strength, but gained only an inch of freedom. He was so strong.
     
    His hands tightened on her waist. It was starting to hurt. She might even have bruises.
     
    “You need to learn when to shut your trap,” he said, hissing into her ear. “I will kill you in your sleep so your attacker