Page 32 of His Favorite Mistake

“So you’re mad because you want to fuck me.” Her voice turned throaty and if anything, I grew even harder. “Is that it?”

“I’m not mad. I’m just saying you don’t need to drag this out for my sake. I’ll be just fine when you move on to deal with your hordes of fans. I didn’t have any illusions about last night, Peyton,” I added as she lifted her head and stared me in the eye.

For a long moment, she didn’t say a word. Then her lower lip trembled, something I never would’ve seen if I hadn’t been watching her so closely. As I had been for the last twelve hours or so since she’d sped into my life.

Hell, I couldn’t take my eyesoffher. Now I knew how her groupies felt. I’d become one overnight.

“What if I did?” she whispered.

Before I could figure out if she’d really said what Ithoughtshe had, she picked up her abandoned boots, rushed past the nightstand then headed into the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door with a firm click.

Fabulous.

I’d stuck my foot in my mouth again. Had to be the tenth time since I’d met her. Proof positive the woman was dangerous to my mental health. She rattled me in ways I was certain I’d never been rattled before. She was a new experience unlike any other.

So much for showing her the ropes. Instead, she’d schooledme.

I rose, wincing more than a little at my hard-on, and pulled on a pair of clean jeans sans boxers. Some part of me still hoped she’d thaw enough for us to have a round of goodbye sex—I’d even take a spirited hate fuck at this point—and I wanted the fewest layers between us possible.

Once I stood in front of the closed bathroom door, I knocked. Loudly. “Peyton, open up.”

No reply.

I knocked again. “Peyton, come on. I was just trying to make this less awkward.”

A moment later, she opened the door. The hair around her face was wet, as if she’d soaped up, and she smelled of my toothpaste. All she wore were those damn boots.

My cock went from erect to stand-back-or-you-might-lose-an-eye.

Probably noticing the direction of my gaze—aka those ridiculously perky breasts capped with hard pale pink nipples—she crossed her arms over her chest. “Your plan to make this less awkward was acting like a total dick. Gotcha. Can’t say I can fault your method. If you act like a big enough of a jerk, I’ll forget why I ever gave a shit about more.”

She reached back and grabbed something off the sink, then flung it into my hand as she pushed past me. I gripped it and tried valiantly not to watch her hips sway. Really I did. But I was so gone over her that even the tips of her blond hair skimming her shoulder blades could’ve prompted a wet dream. With all the rest combined?

I was toast.

“You know, I could understand your attitude about my profession if yours wasn’t similar.”

With her back to me, she shoved bracelets onto her wrists. I hadn’t even realized she’d removed them. No, scratch that, I hadn’t even noticed her wearing any. Then again, I’d been so consumed with Peyton herself that her jewelry hadn’t registered.

Now her comments weren’t either evidently.

“Say what?” I managed, finally discovering she’d shoved my phone into my hand. Why had she taken my phone? Probably to call her “handlers” from an unknown number.

If I ended up with a bunch of unsolicited calls, I’d be pretty—

Happy, actually, because that would be one more link to her. I was a sick bastard.

“You have a lot of nerve acting as if I’m just some kind of peddler to the masses when you do the same thing. We’re both artists, just a different kind.”

“Whoa, hold up. Peddler of what? I just said you have fans to meet and hordes that adore you. I saw the pictures online, Peyton. The girls crying as they waited for you to sign autographs and the men trying to get a piece of you on the red carpet. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

“Who said I was ashamed?” Whirling to face me, she planted her hands on her spectacular hips. That she stood there sounself-consciously naked made me proud way down deep. She might have momentary doubts, but she fought them back.

Just like she was fighting me right now.

“In fact,you’rethe one who’s ashamed, not me. At least I was honest about who I am. You, on the other hand, were not.”

Did she know I’d walked away from the department after my suspension?

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