Page 67 of Panic-Button
I didn’t have time to ponder that.
A click to my right caused my heart to lurch forward.
The door was opening. He was here.
Every second ticked by with the length of an hour. I saw the dust dancing in the light. Preston’s fingers came around the door, followed by his knee, hip, and finally, his cold gray stare.
I waited for his ‘Hello Little Bird’ greeting.
Instead, I got a sharp tsk. “Did I say you could get dressed?”
“I didn’t ask,” I said while shifting my eyes to the black fabric on my shoulder.
“I should punish you.” He wagged his finger and took a few steps forward. “But I like the way you look in my shirt.”
Suddenly, I didn’t miss clothes anymore. I was tempted to rip the shirt off my body, but like it or not, it did give me some form of shield. A flimsy and easily torn one, but it was still better than nothing.
A charge sparked through the air when Preston tipped his head and licked his lips. Those cold gray orbs heated up the lower they dipped, and as much as I hated myself for it, my thighs yearned to part for him. Give him just a peek at what was underneath.
Maybe that wasn’t a bad idea. I did need to lure him over here. So it wouldn’t be like I was giving in to desire. In the right hands, seduction was just like any other tool.
My hands were not the right ones.
I slowly parted my thighs while sliding the shirt over my knees. I was doing it all, giving him that sultry look I’d seen my sister do countless times while silently coaxing him to come to me. The scene was set.
At least, that was how it played out in my head.
What actually happened was I wound up fighting with the shirt because it was trapped under my ass. Then I yanked it free, which pulled the shirt up over my breasts as I smacked myself in the face. Seduction was not my forte.
“Son of a bitch.” Jesus, that hurt.
I rubbed my face while Preston snickered, which only pissed me off more than my failed attempt.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
Two things stunned me. The amusement that sparkled in his eyes, causing them to brighten up like polished silver. “Are you…laughing?”
That was the end of that. Preston’s face fell flat quicker than a five-gallon barrel rolling down a hill.
“No.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t laugh.”
“But you just—”
“That was a chuckle,” he explained. “There’s a difference.”
I rolled my eyes.
Forgive me, oh Lord of Definitions.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“I don’t know.” I stuck my chin up. “Did you just laugh?”
He sighed and cocked his hip against the dresser. “That lasted longer than I thought.”
“What lasted longer?” Was he speaking in code now?
