Page 18 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Listen here,” she growled, surprising herself with the venom in her tone. “Hell will freeze over before I take me clothes off for you or anyone else.”
Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, maybe even respect. But it quickly surrendered to that infuriating smirk. “I never told you to take your clothes off for me.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I said it had to go.”
“Same thing.”
“Your enthusiasm is cute, mouse, but let’s take this slow, yeah?” He scanned the marketplace behind her and landed on acurtained area behind the vendor’s wares. “You can remove the contraband behind a screen or something.”
“Mate—”
“If you keep throwing that word around, I might get the wrong idea.”
“Back. The. Fuck. Off.”
Leather creaked as he folded his arms. A single, perfect dark brow raised. “You’re the one leaning into me.”
She became acutely aware of their proximity. Of her racing pulse. Of how he was right. She leaned toward him, not away. What was wrong with her?
Slamming her brows down, she stepped back and held up the back of her left hand. “Get the hint.”
River’s gaze snapped to her wedding band and engagement ring. She could have sworn his pupils dilated with desire. Jeff had prioritized appearances, buying the biggest diamond he could afford. It was impossible to miss. She waggled the sparkly thing and added, “I’m married.”
“Married,” he repeated, slowly as if tasting the word. His gaze darkened, and his voice dropped an octave. “Do I look like someone who lets anything get in the way of taking what I want?”
Oh boy. Why did his answer make her stomach flip? That reaction alone proved this must be a dream. This tatted bad-boy type wasn’t for her. She preferred clean-cut, sporty men. Not the jaw-cut-from-steel-and-hair-so-black-it-looked-blue type.
Blake laughed hysterically in his face. “People don’t change their type overnight!” A wave of dizziness swept inside her head as she nodded to herself and mumbled, “I’m in a dream.”
He gave her a dubious look. “Okay.”
“You’re not real!” She jabbed him in the chest—in the hard, leather-covered, and warm chest.
“Fairly certain I am.”
“Nope.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tapped the phone trapped in her cleavage. “There’s no place like Oz. There’s no place like Oz.”
“Where’s Oz?”
“Australia.”
“But—”
“Shh.” She tapped a third time. “There’s no place like Oz.”
She held her breath and wished with all her might that she would wake up in bed.
“One. Two—” A goat bleated.
River’s chuckle oscillated between deep and boyishly amused. Annoyed, she peeled open one eye, then the other, and found him staring at her with a smile tugging at his lips.
“Please don’t stop,” he said. “You’re most entertaining.”
“Fuck you.”
“Since you asked nicely.” He glanced around contemplatively. “I guess the cushions could work.” He plucked a tasseled orange one and hugged it to his lap. “What were you trying to do, anyway?”
