Page 10 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

He’s steadily staring at me, and he isn’t laughing. In fact, he looks downright annoyed as he steps so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. I’m surprised there isn’t steam curling off him. I can also tell, from this small distance, that the five o’clock shadow is actually a carefully groomed goatee framing incredibly plump and kissable lips. No, not kissable. I need to stop thinking about kissing and Paynter in the same context. Because I don’t like him, and I don’t want to know whether he’s refined that particular skill.

“And you’re the type where affection has to be scheduled. What would it take? All the lights turned off while you direct from on top? ‘Touch me here, fuck me slower.’ Want to boss me around, Chloe?”

I squeeze my thighs together and press closer to the wall, but there’s no more room, I can’t get away from his warmth or that sexy smell that’s now intermingled with rainwater. So his words, his scent, his body, his freaking glasses turn me on. It doesn’t matter. Ryan Gosling turns me on, too, but I’m not jumping his bones on a deck out in the rain.

“Why don’t you ask one of these girls?” I manage to say. “You know any one of them would sleep with you if they thought it meant they were the winner of that fake ad.”

“The ad was fake?” a girl hovering just inside the door asks.

“Practical joke,” Paynter says. “And I am not going to hook up with one of these girls just because they answered some stupid ad on Craigslist. You need to quit judging me based on some preconceived notion you have, probably from some lousy lay that you can’t seem to get out of your head.”

“My judgment of you has been pretty accurate so far.” My gaze darts to his lips and gets stuck there.

“Has it?”

Are his lips getting closer?

“Are you thinking I’m probably a damn good kisser right about now?”

“Uh-huh,” I say before my brain catches up to my mouth. And now I can’t take it back, because those lips are lifting in a knowing smile and, damn it, they are getting closer.

And now they’re pressed to mine, shifting ever so slightly back and forth for a scant moment before parting and nipping at my lower lip. I open for him as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be kissing my neighbor in the rain while thirty-two other women wander around his home. At least they’re all inside, hopefully distracted by his food and not witnessing this outrageous public display.

I should pull away, maybe even smack him for his audacity, but instead I clutch at his shirt with the hand that isn’t holding a glass of wine. Just a few more seconds won’t hurt. We’re already kissing anyway. His tongue is in my mouth, sweeping along my teeth. I taste rain and wine, the same Malbec he offered to me. I hadn’t expected him to enjoy the fruity, bold beverage. Figured he was a beer drinker, probably the mid-level American kind.

All thoughts of our potential audience are shoved away as I shift my hips, trying to get closer to the bulge pressing against the fly of his jeans. I need to rub against it, to ease this ache in my lower belly. It’s so hot. I’m so hot. It’s like we’re ablaze, caught in an inferno...

“Uh, Paynter?” a female voice calls out from inside the house. “Your grill’s on fire.”

“Shit.” He tears his lips away, leaving me feeling cold despite the heat radiating from the nearby grill.

I fall back against the wall and very nearly drop my wineglass. Holy God, I just kissed Tall, Dark, and Kissable. My lips are numb, swollen. Lifting my hand, I touch them with my fingertips. He’s kissed my lipstick off. He’s also kissed my senses away, because I want more.

I have never gone weak in the knees, I have never stood afraid to move afterward because I didn’t think I could walk. I have never craved a second hit, as if his lips are a drug. I’ve not had a plethora of practice in the kissing department, but I’ve certainly had enough to appreciate his prowess.

The prowess of my neighbor. Paynter. The guy who hired an oiled up stripper to grind against me for three minutes and forty-two seconds. The same guy who managed to destroy my retaliating prank by actually enjoying it.

Standing in the rain, I watch as he slams the lid down on his grill and blows on the flames shooting out through the grease trap at the bottom. Glancing to my right, I see a cluster of women standing at the door, watching him and talking among themselves. I catch one gal’s eye. She smirks.

“Party’s over,” she calls out. “Looks like he picked a winner.”

Blindly, I stumble inside, shove my way through the crowd, and rush toward the front door. No, no he did not. I did not win.

But I will.

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