Page 45 of Perfect

“Fucking damn right,” he reeled back full of arrogant confidence.

“I mean it Harlow, if you go against me again, we’re going to have a problem.” His tone was now full on aggressive male mode. Controlling. I suddenly felt drained.

“I think you’ve said enough,” I croaked out before pulling my hand from his grasp, shoved open the door, and jumped down from the car.

The waterworks were well on their way but my anger had managed to hold them back temporarily. To say the guy rubbed me up the wrong way was the understatement of the year.

I slammed the door as Connor shouted my name, drowning out his reply. Tears started to stream from my eyes. If he came after me, I’d hit him. I didn’t care that I’d probably break my hand.

I held my shoulders back and lifted my chin high, moving towards the house, my heart thumping in my chest.

Connor’s ‘it’s never going to happen’ comment reverberated around my thoughts, feeding my sadness. My reaction had nothing to do with the party. It was his rejection that hurt so much. It was majorly messed up. We’d never even been together and yet I felt like I’d lost something precious.

I almost ran into the house as I struggled for coherence, the desire to find my bed and hide beneath the duvet, the only clear thought I could process.

Eight

The next few days and that the entire weekend, Connor was notably absent which was a colossal relief. He didn’t even show up for my birthday meal which didn’t bother me. I was mortified by what had happened after the party and his vanishing act allowed me an appropriate amount of time for some essential wound licking.

It turned out that my dad had bought me a car, a fucking car! Who does that? I was grateful of course until I caught Connor’s expression when he saw it. He shot me one of those looks that made me feel like an overindulged brat again. I couldn’t even drive the thing and still had to apply for my provisional license.

“Connor can teach you,” dad had suggested at breakfast. Yeah right, I’d rather chew my own fingers off.

On Thursday morning, I watched Connor glumly from my room. He was in the yard in all his male glory. My new mini also sat there, gleaming and new and un-driven with its perfect shiny paintwork. It even had go-faster stripes! I’d sat in it a few times, of course, not wanting to appear ungrateful but in the dusty surroundings, it stood out; an example of two different worlds almost. I so wished my father hadn’t gone for such a big gesture. My mum had sent me a necklace from Pandora and a card.

I stood ogling Connor from my window like a proper sad case. He was working on one of the main barns which housed the cows, his now shirtless body taunting me as I appraised every chiselled angle. He made me think of that scene in Top Gun where the guys are playing volleyball on the beach half-naked. Every girl’s wet dream I imagined. His tattooed sleeve screamed ‘sex on legs’.

I had tried my hardest to keep my distance, but my dad had put an end to that at breakfast when he hinted that I could give Connor a hand with some ‘light’ repairs he’d been working on. A black eye was my preference.

The thought of Connor ordering me about without bringing up what had happened in the car was going to be tough, but I was determined to appear unaffected, and underno circumstanceswould I give himanyammunition to throw back in my face. Longing looks were now out of the question and if he was still shirtless when I got downstairs, I’d pinch myself as a distraction if necessary.

I pulled on baggy sweats and a tee and left my room, the air was muggy, hence the probable reason for Connor stripping off in the first place. Either that or he knew I was watching and did it to torture me. The body I had expected beneath his clothes was definitely well worth the wait, washboard abs; everything. The whole manly package could force a girl to foam at the mouth.

I chewed the inside of my cheek as I waited in front of the barn like an abandoned puppy, wondering where the hell he’d suddenly disappeared to. I ran my hands across my pink joggers feeling like a first-class loser. I’d chosen the baggiest T-shirt I’d brought which fell off one shoulder and revealed my bra strap. It was comfortable but still sexy, in avoluminouskind of way. I’d strategically opted for a lacey black bra, again suggestive but also the perfect shade to match my mood.

My body tensed as he appeared, at last, striding out from around the side of the house with that determined expression on his face, a look that I had now become so accustomed to. He still wore the jeans he’d had on earlier but thankfully had pulled on a snug-fitting, black button-down with paint marks on it. At least I could refrain from that foaming now.

Connor wore a tool belt that sat low on his hips. The mundane thing carried hammers and spanners FFS, but my libido still decided it added to the hotness. Let the nipping commence!

Connor Barratt looked very much the part of your typical contractor but less weathered, more like the models you saw in the ads, who were too perfect to be true and had probablyneverpicked up a spanner in their lives.

“Mike said you’d offered to help?” he put in cynically, a blatant ‘as if’ message underpinning his words.

I felt like flipping him the finger but thankfully restrained myself. “Yes well, I had nothing better to do so—,” I did a fluttery thing with my hand. WTF wasthat?

Connor cleared his throat.

“Let’s crack on then. I see you’ve dressed the part,” he smirked as his eyes shot up and down my body.

It took effort but I smiled. Not a genuine one, of course, I was annoyed that he’d made a point of commenting on my shapeless clothing. Spawn of Satan.

I wrinkled my nose.

“What did you imagine I’d wear; a tight dress and heels?” I drawled sarcastically.

He chuckled which knocked me and an actual smile followed, if the cruel curve to his mouth could be called that of course.

His gaze roamed over me again, this time quite provocatively. My pulse twitched.

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