Page 13 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

“Paynter?” Her voice is husky and low. It’s almost soft, the way she says my name, her usual edge fizzling away.

Shit, I can’t stop my gaze from going to that spot between her knees for a fraction of a second, and when I manage to focus on her face it’s even closer than before. Her blue eyes are framed by thick, black lashes that lie in contrast against her pale skin. Her lips are parted and mere inches away.

“Jesus.” Straightening up, I scrape the pads of my fingers along her jaw as I bridge the distance to kiss her. The pulse at her throat beats double time under my palm, and she tips her head back, her tongue playing with mine. Her hair is silk against my knuckles. Slipping my fingers through it at the nape of her neck, I shift closer until her knees clench either side of my hips.

When she bunches up my shirt in her hand and yanks me closer, I groan into her mouth and tighten my hold on the back of her head. Her tongue thrusts against mine, eager and unrestrained. When she kisses she seems to forget who she is, or maybe who she pretends to be. I like this side of her, this open and unchecked woman underneath her haughty outer layers, with her scent like rain, sweet, fresh, and evocative.

Dropping the towel, I mash her to me. Her hot body curves to mine, those knees coming up higher as she drops a hand to the counter surface to brace herself while she grinds against my erection. God, she’s hot, and so is the scorching sensation that zings in my nerves at every point we touch and becomes raw need in my gut.

Damn, it’s been a while since anything felt this good.

I drag my hand from her hair to the buttons on her shirt so I can undo one, and then another while I kiss down her throat to the creamy V of skin flashing beneath her collar. Using my pinkie, I tug the material aside and dart my tongue over the top of one plump breast where the lace of her bra sits flush with her skin. “You’re not as stiff as you pretend to be, are you, sweetheart?”

“Not as stiff as you,” she says, her hand sliding between us, down my torso.

Is she going for a crotch grab? I don’t think I could have imagined her making a move like that in my wildest fantasies, and yes, I’ve been imagining her doing more than that kiss we shared the other evening. But sure enough, her hand covers my hardness and squeezes. Her touch is fire as she rubs up and down the length of my rigid cock.

“Fucking hell.” I hiss between my teeth as I slip a hand between her thighs. She squirms in place, spreading her legs so I can press my fingers to her panties. And now I know the answer to the question I haven’t been able to shake. Her panties do exist, but the silk is soaked right through and the barrier they present is a tease in itself.

When she moans loudly from the barest whispered touch I’m captivated. “If I’m stiff it’s because of you. You’re turning me on so much, I want to whip down your panties and plunge inside you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” She grips my hair in one hand, pulling me into another kiss.

I run my finger up and down her seam beneath the silk. “I knew you wanted me to come over here and fuck you. Can’t waste all those condoms.”

“The box.” She gasps, her nimble hands leaving my skin. “It’s still at the door. What if someone sees it?”

“What if they do?” I lean in to kiss her again, but she pulls back farther. “All they’ll think is you have a fetish for sex dolls.”

She ignores that, which is too bad because it was the perfect lead-in to some seriously dirty conversation. “Do you really think I wanted you to come over here so I could have sex with you?”

The mask she wears starts at her eyes. The softness and heat leaves her gaze, her jaw becomes sharper, her cheek muscles lock in to an expression of disdain. And then she lifts the nose that three seconds ago I might have called cute into the air and looks down it at me at the same time she pries my hand from between her legs.

“You have a high opinion of yourself. Do all the women you sleep with tell you you’re good in bed? I bet they lie to you. Most of them probably fake their orgasms.”

“Want to find out for yourself?” Where the hell did the woman I was getting close with just go? It makes my head spin and kills my boner better than a bucket of ice water.

“Is that how you made your money? Are you in porn or some kind of gigolo?” She busies herself, combing the snags out of her hair, smoothing her skirt, and fixing the buttons on her shirt.

With a snort, I roll my gaze to the roof and thread my hands together on top of my head. “You really don’t give people a chance before you form opinions of them, do you?”

“Well, am I right?” She snaps her attention to my face.

“No, sweetheart. You’re dead wrong.” Snatching up the towel, I wrap a handful of ice into it and hand it to her. “Why? Are you curious?”

“No. I don’t care what you do.” She pulls her foot up on the counter, angling her legs to block any more chances of me getting a glimpse between them, while she puts the ice to her puffy ankle. “I know enough to be able to make an informed opinion.”

God help me, she’s just another stuffy, conceited princess, isn’t she? No matter how attracted to her I am, the last thing I’m looking for is a woman where nothing will ever be good enough, big enough, expensive enough. Where her only interest is what will distinguish her above everyone around her. No doubt Chloe has a five-year plan for making that happen. Each little detail written down, outline style, and it’d probably take an act of God for her to deviate. She’s more stuck-up, more pretentious than anyone I’ve ever met. Almost. Which is why I’m done with this woman already. She can keep her opinions to herself, because I’m sure as hell not interested enough to care. Just because I’m attracted to her doesn’t mean I need to act on it.

“Do you want me to help you down from there?”

“No, I think it’s time you left.” She doesn’t bother to look at me. “And take that box with you.”

“Fine.” I push my feet back into my shoes and head out the way I came. “But if you ever decide you’re sick of making assumptions, you know where I live.” I don’t know why I practically invite her over. If anything, I should tell her to stay the hell out of my yard and away from my car. It’s probably best we don’t even try to be friends. Yet, for some reason that eludes me, I hope that she takes me up on the offer, and I’m already planning revenge that will make her efforts seem pathetic in comparison. It’s only because I want to see her face when she realizes she’s wrong about me. I’m not curious about the woman who slips out of character from time to time.

I tuck the box under my arm as I make my way down the pavement to my house. I was on my way out before all this happened. Shit, now I’m running late to meet Garrett.

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