Page 16 of Being Hospitable

This time his ears at least twitched. Guess it was better than nothing. I picked up the remote and readjusted to a more comfortable position on the couch. If I couldn’t get work done, bingeing old episodes of Law and Order would be the next best thing. Yoda popped his head up, then jumped off the couch, barking as he ran full steam toward the front door. Seconds later the doorbell chimed.

“Who in the hell?” I groaned, unfolding myself from my position. I’d just gotten settled. “Stop with the noise,” I scolded as I got closer. “You act as if you’ve never heard the doorbell before.”

A quick look through the peephole made my breath catch. Damn it all to hell, I’d talked him up. I did a slow exhale and put on my best annoyed face. Yoda darted out the small opening and jumped at Emilio’s ankles. Traitor.

“You have crappy timing.”

The friendly smile he wore quickly turned into a frown. “Damn, I can’t get a hello before you start bitching at me?”

I crossed my arms and leaned against the door. “You’re right. Sorry. Hello. And you have crappy timing. I’d just gotten comfortable and here you come to mess it up.”

He laughed and bent down to pick up Yoda, the brown plastic bag in his hand rustling as he did. “Is she this pissy with everyone, Ren, or is it just me?”

I rolled my eyes at the dumb name he insisted on calling Yoda and reached out to take him. “What can I say, you bring out the best in me.”

His grin got wider and I worked to ignore the effect it had on me. Emilio sauntered in without waiting for an invitation.

“So, what were you doing that I rudely interrupted by giving you the pleasure of my company?”

I shut the door and set Yoda down. He ran back to the living room probably to reclaim his favorite spot on the couch.

“Pleasure? That might be a stretch.”

Emilio turned to stare at me. Those dark brown eyes, framed by the black full lashes, and the smirk firmly planted on his lips called me on my bullshit without him having to say a word.

I cleared my throat and shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from fanning myself. “Anyway, what brings you over?”

He held up the bag. “Being a good neighbor and returning your container. Figured it’d be easier on you to have the same one for next time.”

“Excuse me? Next time? Who the hell said anything about a next time?”

When I grabbed for the bag, he wrapped his hand around my wrist and pulled me against his body.

“Awww, Ma, you wouldn’t do me like that would you? Give me a taste of your sweet, sweet treats and not let me have more. And here I was thinking you were starting to like me just a little.”

He licked his lips and I damn near moaned. His words were smooth and easy. The low, throaty tenor of his voice only added to the dirty innuendo hidden in his message. The burn of wanton desire spiraled around me hot and fast and I clenched against the pulsating between my legs.

My mouth went dry and my brain turned to mush, preventing me from giving him a witty comeback. Damn him! Damn him straight to hell. Never in my life had a man gotten under my skin as much as he did. And never had I enjoyed the frustration of it like I did with him. Our own sort of foreplay. And boy did it have an effect. I pulled back and attempted to pay no attention to the newfound dampness of my panties.

“We’ll have to do something about that,” I said, turning to head toward my kitchen.

“Do something about what?” His voice boomed from behind as he followed me.

“You thinking I like you.”

He laughed at me again. I set the bag on the counter and turned, planting my hands on my hips and the most indignant look I could muster on my face.

“And why is that funny? An excellent roll in the hay does not constitute me liking you.”

A full smile spread across his face putting his pearly whites on display. He rubbed his hands together and I mentally kicked myself for the inflation to his ego.

“Ma, come on now. You just love to tell on yourself. It’s kinda cute actually. But I’ll play. If two ‘excellent rolls in the hay’ plus home-baked goods don’t constitute you liking me, what does? A third? Because I’m game.”

“Your math seems to be off. Or you’re getting me confused with someone.” For some reason that thought annoyed me and I refused to give myself time to analyze why.

“I know who I’m talking about. We may not have bumped uglies that first time, but getting you off more than once counts in my book.”

I drew my brows together and tilted my head. “Bumped what?”

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