Page 56 of Inviting Trouble
“Park,” she whispered.
He crushed her to him, deepening the kiss, the attraction too strong to deny. His mind clouded; there was nothing but her soft mouth, the heat, the undeniable pull to bring her closer. He lost himself in the kiss, his hands stealing under the back of her shirt, needing to feel skin. But it wasn’t enough. He backed her up against the wall, pressing his body fully against hers, his mouth claiming hers. Her hands were all over him. Red haze of lust. Intense. Overwhelming. Then she was unbuttoning his jeans. Oh God. He lasted ten minutes resisting her. What was he doing?
He grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand. She broke the kiss, twisted out of his grip, and met his eyes, breathing hard. They both were. Fuck. Maybe he should get a hotel.
He held up a hand. “I think—”
“Don’t think.”
He shoved a hand in his hair. “I’m going to go up. Got some things to do.” Like take care of this boner.
“Fine by me,” she said in a surprisingly agreeable tone.
He started toward the stairs and she kept up with him. He stopped. “Just me,” he ordered. “Mad, please.”
“I made a lot of effort to look nice for you tonight,” she said through her teeth. “I let Hailey do my hair.”
“You look nice,” he said, a little surprised she was fussing over her hair. That wasn’t like her. “Your hair is nice.” He found himself smiling because it was also kinda nice that she’d made an effort for him. Even if it wasn’t something he could follow up on.
She put her hands on her hips, always a sign she was pissed. “And Charlotte did my makeup, but that’s not good enough for you. I’ll never be one of those petite girly girls you like. You can just say it. I’m not your type.”
He regarded her for one solemn moment, saw the easiest way to shut this overwhelming thing between them down, and took it. “You’re right. You’re not my type.”
She sucked in air and staggered back.
He immediately stepped forward, reaching for her, but she jerked away. He wanted to take it back, wanted to spare her tender feelings. “Mad, time out, wait—”
“Screw you, Parker Shaw.” Her voice was quiet and deadly calm, which somehow made it worse. “You don’t deserve me.”
He pressed his lips together, unable to deny it. “You’re right.”
She turned and crossed to the front door, opening it to the frigid cold of a December night.
He couldn’t help himself. “Take a coat; it’s cold.”
Her shoulders moved up and down like she took a deep breath and then she left.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was for the best, he told himself. He’d done the right thing. Except everything about this felt wrong. He couldn’t relax and found himself sitting on the sofa in front of the TV for hours, listening for her return. Finally, near midnight the door opened again. At the sight of her, whole and healthy, he finally relaxed. He knew it didn’t make sense. She’d been on her own for years, far away from him, but now that he was home, he felt tied to her again and needed to know she was okay.
He stood and crossed to her, wanting to make amends. He hadn’t meant she wasn’t his type. Far from it. “About before, you know…well, I hope you know…” He trailed off at the death glare she aimed at him.
“Glad you’re home,” he said to her retreating back as she headed upstairs.
He hated that he’d hurt her.
“Mad!” he called. “I didn’t mean…” He stood there for a moment and was about to follow her upstairs, but then he heard the shower running. Visions of a naked Mad in the shower flashed through his brain. That last time in Maine when he’d joined her in the shower. She’d been aggressive, pushing and pushing him until he couldn’t hold back his natural aggression anymore. He’d taken her too roughly, focused only on the dark urgings of his own body, only dimly aware of the noises she made. He didn’t even know if she was okay until he’d finished and her hoarse voice finally penetrated the lusty haze of his brain.
He flopped back on the sofa and turned up the volume on the TV, trying to drown out the sound of the shower. It was his own damn fault. He never should’ve caved to baser instinct. He had to think first, then take action.
Yes, that was the problem. He hadn’t stopped to think it through. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Chapter Fourteen
Park sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee early the next morning. His dad came in a few minutes later, off work from his night shift as a security guard.
“Morning,” his dad said, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.
“Morning.”
