Page 16 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

“My friend?” He swings around, as if he has no idea who I’m talking about, and I have to grab his waist because I almost lose my balance with the sudden loss of his touch. He clamps his hands down over mine and tugs me close, until I’m hugging him from behind. I can feel every one of those hard ridges on his back, and I’m not talking about his spine. The man has the most muscular back I’ve ever had the pleasure to touch.

Turning his head, he manages to drop a smacking kiss on my nose before I can twist my head to the side.

“That’s my brother. You’ve met Garrett already, haven’t you?”

Garrett chuckles. “Nice to officially meet you, Chloe.”

“I told them your pranks are funny,” Paynter says in a stage whisper that probably reaches the neighbors on the other side of the lake. Garrett practically chokes on his laughter, and I can hear the woman snickering, too. “And your kisses are hot. I told you guys that, didn’t I?”

“Actually, you told us you wanted to—”

The woman cuts off whatever Garrett was about to say. “He really did have nothing but good things to say about you,” she says. “I’m Veronica, by the way. Their sister.” She stabs her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Garrett then nods at Paynter.

“Ronnie,” Paynter declares. “You can call her Ronnie. She doesn’t let many people, but you can.”

Veronica—Ronnie, whatever—gives a throaty laugh. “He’s right. Only family and friends call me Ronnie. Feel free.”

I don’t want to know that Paynter talks about me to his siblings, and whatever he’s told them doesn’t make them hate me. And I don’t want his sister to like me so much she’s already decided I belong in some inner circle of people who are allowed to call her by a nickname, even if I think Ronnie’s a cool nickname for a girl.

This is not part of my plan. My life would be so much easier if they all disliked me and Paynter and I drew a line in the sand and each agreed to stay on our side. No more pranks, no more kisses. Just neighbors. I have goals to achieve and he’s a distraction. Too much distraction.

“Wait, were you talking about my sister? She’s not my friend,” Paynter says.

Huh? Oh right, I called her a friend a moment ago, when I thought she was a date he’d brought home. Apparently I need more practice speaking drunken rambling.

“Thanks a lot,” Ronnie responds.

“Not like you’re my friend,” he says to me. “You’re one of the funnest friends I have.”

Me?

“Funnest?” Ronnie says with a snort.

“And cutest,” Paynter adds.

Me?

“We don’t even like each other,” I say, desperately trying to find my equilibrium. It disappeared somewhere between funnest and cutest.

“What?” Paynter is all mock indignation as he twirls around to face me. “We do too like each other. People who don’t like each other don’t kiss like we do.”

“We don’t kiss,” I say weakly. “I mean, I know we have, and yes, it was pretty spectacular, both times, but we aren’t right now, nor should we in the future. We’re neighbors. And, apparently, friends. That doesn’t generally include kissing.”

“Glad to know you don’t go around kissing your other neighbors, but I should be excluded from that particular rule.” He stabs a thumb at his chest and affects a serious, albeit drunken look.

“I…” I try to voice my thoughts, but nothing comes out.

“It’s my birthday,” he says. “You at least owe me a birthday kiss.”

Before I can work out how he’s managed to come to this conclusion, he’s grabbed my arms, pulling them toward him so that I’m hugging his waist. And then his hands come up to cup my face, his fingers threading into my hair. I can feel the strands being tugged out of my ponytail, the sand sprinkling my shoulders and the floor, and I can only imagine what I must look like right now. I try to tell myself I don’t care what these people think of me, but the reality is, I’m practically praising God the lighting in his house is dim.

While I’m saying my ridiculous prayers, Paynter’s lips descend, and I become focused. Those plump promises of sensual delight are the only aspect of my world. I am unable to close my eyes as his face draws nearer, as his eyelids flicker closed behind his glasses, as his lips pucker slightly. My tongue slips out, moistening my upper lip a scant moment before he’s claiming that birthday kiss.

Tilting his head to the side, he opens his mouth and thrusts out his tongue. I answer by parting my lips, and then he’s invading me, devouring me as if he finds my taste divine and can’t possibly get enough. My fingers curl into his shirt. I’m holding on for dear life. If I let him go I may be swept away into a black hole.

He untangles a hand from my hair and drops it to my ass, squeezing and pulling me closer. His erection presses into my belly, and I stand on tiptoe, trying to adjust my stance so it’s pressing between my thighs instead. I want that friction. I’m craving it right now. He’s the most decadent chocolate, the finest wine, the most perfectly seasoned and prepared steak. Just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate food. Or a man who can kiss like it’s his mission in this life.

He pulls his lips from mine and whispers them across my cheek to my ear, where he nibbles for a moment before murmuring, “Spend the night with me, Chloe.”

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