Page 12 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

“I don’t want it.” Another step back while her gaze remains plastered on the box, and then she yelps.

Dropping the box as she begins to fall, I grab hold of her hand before her ass lands on the ground. She’s not even wearing those ludicrously high heels she seems so fond of. Actually they’re laying right beside her on the Oriental rug.

“Okay there?” I steady her, one hand to her elbow, the other at her waist, because it feels nice to hold her even if it is at a distance. Her warmth twists the synapses in my brain so that they’re making me think about how it would feel to get my hands under her shirt. And now maybe I’m the crazy one for thinking about wanting more than just one little kiss.

“Take your hands off me,” she demands, pushing me away as she straightens up, and then she winces and bends as she lifts her foot again. “Ouch.”

“You’re not okay.” I take in the watery shine to her eyes and how her body curves in with the pain.

“I think I twisted my ankle.”

Scooping her up in my arms, I leave the box on her front step and carry her into the house, past a large antique mirror. Of course she’d have a mirror right next to her front door. I bet she checks it every time before she walks out to make sure she’s immaculate. Her entryway is filled with plants, an antique coat and umbrella stand, and one of those long benches for taking off shoes. It’s homely and has this cottage vibe to it.

“Which way to the kitchen?”

“Through there.” She points to the left of the back wall, against which a long hall table boasts a peace lily and several magazines as well as a hammered copper bowl for keys and stuff. The wall is more of a feature. A short hallway runs along behind it and leads to the kitchen.

I set her down on the counter. Smoothing my hand down from her knee to her foot, I lift it. She has long, sculpted legs with tight calves, slim ankles, and a splash of purple on her toes. Legs that go all the way up under that short, prim skirt and look like they’d be flexible. I can imagine them wrapped around my hips if I kiss her again, if I lift her off the counter and carry her to bed, although the idea of sliding my fingers up her thigh and under the hem of that cute skirt right here is pretty damn tempting on its own. It shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t make my dick twitch and grow hard, she shouldn’t fill my mind with erotic images where she’s naked and on me, all over me, while I move inside her.

I am so a leg man right now. Normally I’m an ass man. There’s something about a woman with a tight, round ass narrowing into a tapered waist perfect for holding onto that grinds my gears. That was the first thing I noticed about Chloe, other than her face and that ear-piercing dog whistle, but everything about this woman is sexy.

Focus on the matter at hand, Paynter. “I’m going to take a look to make sure you haven’t done any real damage.”

“Do you know what you’re doing? Perhaps it would be best if I just went to a doctor.”

“What happened, anyway? I would have thought you’d twist an ankle in those silly shoes, not barefoot. Honestly, it’s beyond me how those spindly stilts you women choose to wear don’t snap right off the minute you walk in them.” I rove my fingers over her ankle and she hisses out a breath, but everything feels intact so I go to her fridge to get ice.

“I’m not a klutz. I didn’t just fall over my feet. And I know how to walk in heels. I’m extremely good at it. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“And yet I kept you from falling on your ass.”

“Yes, well, I was on my way out. I was about to put my shoes on when you tried to knock my door down. I can’t help it that you pushed that box at me and I tripped over my Miu Miu heels.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. And while we’re on the subject, I prefer people take their shoes off at the door. Do you mind?”

“Seriously?” This freezer is full of store-bought meals and not much else. Does the woman not know how to cook? At least she has ice, possibly for her wine, so that’s something. “Where do you keep your kitchen towels?”

“In that drawer,” she points to the cabinets below her. “The third one down. And no, I’m not joking about the shoes.”

“Fine.” I slip off my Sperrys and then bend to get the towel for the ice. I actually like the fact that she likes to be barefoot at home even if it’s probably for the wrong reasons. No doubt it’s because she can’t stand dirt being tracked into her perfect, sterile environment. Except what I’ve seen inside her house doesn’t mesh well with that idea.

“Your house is different from what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s cozy.”

“Look, it might not be as grand as yours, but—”

“I mean it’s comfortable.” I don’t need her to compare our houses. I’m well aware of how ridiculous my current residence is, but it’s still only a house, a place to live and eat and sleep. Even if I’d have settled for a much smaller house in a less perfect neighborhood without batting an eye. “I like it.”

“Yes, well, I like to be comfortable,” she says, and there’s an edge to her wistful tone. As though maybe she doesn’t know how to relax in the presence of other people.

Is it possible I’ve misread her the same way she has me?

Glancing up, I find her watching me. She’s leaning forward, so her hair hangs past her shoulders. Slim, elegant fingers curl over the edge of the counter, and her knees are slightly parted. If I dipped my gaze, I would be peeking under her skirt in this position. The tip of her tongue appears between her lips, and the delicate muscles at the base of her jaw move.

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