So. Long.: Bad Boy Next Door (3 page)

She lifts one shoulder and drops it. “Eh. Some guys…”

“Well, I was married to a cheater. I’m not going to start seeing
one. If he’d cheat on his girlfriend, he’d cheat on me.”

“Who says you have to start
seeing
him? Why not just
fuck him? Save yourself the emotional baggage and concentrate on having some fun.
It’ll free you and give you something to write about.”

I flop backward and sink into the sofa, letting out a huge
breath. “You think?”

The possibility dangles in front of me like a donut on a
stick, tempting and sweet, to be snatched and enjoyed.

I grin. “I guess—I
could
.”

She turns, pulling her leg up, her pointy knee poking into
my hip bone. “You
should
. If nothing else, call him on his bluff. If
he’s too chicken-shit to stand behind his words, then screw him. But—and this
is the best part—you might get to play on your very own Jungle Jim and
actually
fuck
him.”

“He said his name is Adam.”

She squints one eye. “Nah. I like
Jungle Jim
better.”

With a roll of my eyes, I push up off the couch. “I’ll
think
about it.”

“Yes!” She pulls a fistful of air to her side. “And I expect
a full report.”

“Should I fill out a satisfaction questionnaire?”

Her eyes light up. “Oh, we should
so
create one of
those. It could have questions like
Rate your lover’s thrust depth, on a
scale of one to ten.
One equals
Is it in yet?
Ten being
Beyond my
belly button.
”

A giggle bubbles up from my chest. I can never stay mad at
Leigh. She’s too full of spunk and life, and that keeps me going, especially
when all I really want is to roll into a ball on the floor of my closet and
die.

“
Rate your lover’s bedside manner—is he neat and tidy or
wild and ravenous?
” Leigh’s fun is interrupted by ringing.

“Oh, that’s Pat.” I pull my phone from my pocket. “Hey, how
are you? Everything okay?”

My ex-mother-in-law clears her throat. “Hey, Kelsey.
Everything’s fine. She’s been having a ball. I wanted to check with you to make
sure you don’t mind if I take Clarissa to the water park. We’ll have James with
us, and he said he’ll take her around to the slides.”

A shaft of fear stabs through the pit of my stomach—Clarissa
at a water park, with hundreds of people milling around? Every opportunity for
her to get lost or someone taking her or worse. I shudder.

I shake it off and suck in a deep breath.

Her cousin has always been sweet with her. “James doesn’t
mind? I mean, he’s not going to get tired of having a three-year-old tag along?

“He’s looking forward to it.”

“Is Matt going too?”

“I did ask, but Matt said he’s busy—with
that girl
.”

That girl
. My heart shudders at the thought of
exactly
who
that girl is, and what she used to mean to me. Pat insists she’ll
never accept her, even if Matt marries her, because she can’t be trusted.

My mind trips through hard memories, and I struggle to
swallow.

Pat breaks into my thoughts. “James isn’t taking a friend.
It’s only going to be the three of us. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

“You remember that Clarissa can’t swim, right?”

A tisk-tisk comes through the phone. “Of course I know that.
She’s my granddaughter, silly. Don’t worry. We’ll watch out for her.”

I bite my lip, glancing at Leigh.

Her eyebrows rise in question.

I mouth
water park
to her.

She immediately gives me a thumbs-up with a giant smile and
a nod.

I push my mothering fears aside. “I guess it’s all right. Please,
watch her. She’ll wander off if you aren’t careful.”

Pat chuckles. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure she comes home
in one piece.”

I swipe my thumb across the screen.

“You worry too much. Clarissa’s going to be fine—with or
without Matt. And you need to trust the people in your life to help you with
her.”

An overwhelming mixture of loss, fear, and anxiety surge to
the back of my throat, tightening it. “It’s hard.”

She leans in, her arm circling my shoulder and pulling me
close. “I know. But hey, look at the bright side—you have a hunky new neighbor
who’s willing to be your go-to get-laid guy.”

I close my eyes, shaking my head at my friend’s one-track
mind. The image of Adam, shirtless and glistening with sweat, looms in my
memory, warming parts of me that, for far too long, have been left cold.

The end of Chloe’s tail twitches, and she makes that weird
crackling sound as she sits on the windowsill watching the birds.

An unexpected cool-front came in last night, and I opened
all the windows this morning to let the house air. It’s not often that it’s nice
enough in June to have nothing more than a screen between the inside and the
outside.

Chloe discovered the birds a few minutes ago, settling in,
face pressed into the mesh as she poises to pounce.

From my spot at the end of the sofa, I smooth my toes across
her spine. “Sorry, stinker. The screen protects you from getting your ass
kicked by a mockingbird.”

I adjust my laptop and pull my focus to the almost blank
page. Still very few words. My publishing date is approaching fast, and I can’t
seem to find three words to string together. It’s like sludge is stuck in my
creative well.

The waves swell beneath the ship as it carries me across
the seas. Arranged marriages should be illegal.

The last person I want to wed is that insufferable Lord
my father thinks will make a good match. He’s a cad.

A whine from the other side of the window draws my
attention.

Chloe jumps to her tip-toes, back arched. Her fur stands on
end.

A low whimper is followed by a loud bark.

My kitten spits at the screen as though she’s protecting the
house from a dragon.

Who’s dog is that?

I lean forward.

Another bark.

A crash.

What the fu—?

Chloe scrambles from the sill to my legs, claws digging in
as she propels herself over my shoulder to the dining table.

What on Earth?

I reach for her, barely grazing the tip of her tail with my
fingers.

A mass of muscle and fur throws itself into my lap, knocking
my computer to the floor.

Holy shits.

My heart thumps as a brown and white beast clambers to get
his feet under him while trampling my gut. Slobber smears my chest.

Too bad that’s the first saliva I’ve had on my tits in
fuck-knows how long.

Ew, and it’s
slimy
.

A bark rings in my ear as the dog jumps over the sofa and onto
my table in pursuit.

I jump from the couch, sprinting to the kitchen, where
mayhem reigns.

The cat makes her way around the countertops as the wiggly-butted
boxer chases her from surface to surface.

Canisters scatter and roll. Paper napkins flutter. And my
thawing hen slides across the counter like a shuffleboard puck going for the
goal.

I dart across the room.

Too late.

The pullet takes flight across the kitchen—apparently feathers
aren’t necessary after all.

Hands out, I launch into the air. The slippery hen evades rescue,
landing on the floor with a thud, skidding between the mutt and me on its way
toward the door.

The dog loses all interest in the kitten as he snatches the bird.
The whites of his eyes show as he watches me, all the while dodging my flailing
grasp.

Oh, hell no. Not my chicken.

I block the exit, arms wide. “Oh, no you don’t.”

He readjusts his grip on my dinner. His big paws slide on
the linoleum as he tries to plow past me.

I get hold of his collar, hooking my fingers under it. “I’ve
got you now.”

Fucker’s a freaking diesel truck.

He pulls me down, but I hang on for all I’m worth. Too much
has been taken from me lately to lose my lunch to a mutt.

I manage to flip over and get one leg on either side of him,
feet braced against the doorframe of the kitchen’s entrance for leverage. Like
a cartoon, his legs are in motion, but he’s going nowhere fast. Until he manages
to get his front paws to the place the linoleum meets the carpet.

He gains traction. He strains against his collar, whipping
his head left and right as I try—and fail—to grab my chicken with my free hand.

Suddenly, the tension between the beast and my grip is
relieved when the leather snaps. The brown, bobbed tail and sinewy hind legs make
tracks through to the living room.

I scramble to my feet and follow.

By the time I get into the other room, all that’s left to
show there was a strange pooch mauling my buttered and seasoned roaster is a
busted out screen, a kitchen catastrophe, and my poor, shell-shocked kitty
staring down from the top of the refrigerator as though she expects the hellion
to return any second.

I lean out the window, hands on the sill, yelling to the sky,
“Whoever owns that damned dog owes me a chicken dinner!”

Adam jogs over from his yard, a mangled poultry carcass
wrapped in an old towel in his hand, a grin peeking out from under all that facial
hair. “So this is yours?”

I glare. “Who does that brute belong to? Did you see? I’ve
got a thing or two to say to them about keeping their mutt in their yard,
rather than turning him loose on the neighborhood where he can rain down chaos
and terror on unsuspecting homeowners and tiny kittens.”

Adam tucks the turbaned chicken behind his back and rocks on
his heels. “That’d be Spike. He’s my mutt. Sorry.”

My nostrils flare, and my teeth grind.

“That’s all you have to say?
Sorry
?” I brace my knees
against the window frame and lean out to poke him in the chest. “He stole my
dinner, not to mention the mess he left me to clean up. And my cat—my sweet
kitty is going to need extensive counseling and will probably still suffer
PTSD. And God help you if my computer is broken—that’s my freaking living.”

“The cat? PTSD?” His brow wrinkles. “
Seriously
?”

A brown and white streak passes behind Adam.

Adam stumbles forward, then catches himself against the
siding of my house with his
empty
hands.

Ears back, my dinner firmly clamped between his jowls, towel
flapping behind him, Spike makes tracks between the houses.

Adam calls after him, “C’mon, Spike. You’re not helping!”

I lean further out of the window as the ass-end of the dog
skids around the gate into Adam’s back yard.

Adam turns to me with a half-shrug. “Well, it was already
ruined anyway. Right?”

“You. And that
mutt
. Ugh!” Fury wells in my chest.

Intending to slam the damned window and show him what I
think of his freaking critter, I move to duck backward through the opening.

A crack accompanies a sharp pain lancing the back of my
skull.

“Aw, fuck.” I press my hand against the throb. “Damn.”

I open my eyes, wincing as I check for blood.

Adam reaches for me. Before I can dodge his palm, he pushes
my head down until I’ve cleared the danger zone and am completely inside. I
stumble backward a step or two. 

He grabs the upper part of the window frame and swings into
the house. “Here, let’s see.”

I frown. “No. Thanks. I’m fine.”

“Let me look.” He steps toward me.

I retreat.

“Don’t be a baby. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m not being a baby. And I’m fine. It’s a little bump on
the noggin.”

He wipes his hands on his jeans and reaches for me, framing
the sides of my face with big, callused palms as he tilts my skull forward.
“Just let me see.”

I hold still while he inspects the injury.

When he steps closer, he dwarfs me.

My heartbeat thumps, not only in my chest, but also at the knot
that’s likely forming on my head.

He gently lays a kiss on my crown, and a warm ribbon of—of
something I haven’t felt in a long time winds through me.

“I think you’re going to live.” He says, his lips still
pressed to the sore spot.

I swallow hard as a tendril of caution pulls me away from
his touch—his mouth. I drag in a measured breath and release it even more
slowly. It does nothing to calm the erratic rhythm of my blood crashing through
my veins.

“Okay then.” I clasp my hands behind me, if for no other
reason than to keep myself from grabbing his shirt and yanking him closer.

That would be a bad idea.

He pulls his shades off, revealing the part of his face I’ve
not seen before. His hooded gaze is intense and traps my own when I want
nothing more than to look anywhere but at him.

I clear my tight throat. “Thanks for checking me out. I
mean—hell—I hope your dog enjoys my dinner. Have a nice rest of your day.”

Hazel eyes bore into mine. “What if I’m not finished
checking you out?”

My mouth goes dry as all the moisture drains straight to my
sadly under-used girly parts.

Oh, good Lord, what do I do?

“I should see how Chloe’s doing.” I turn away.

He grabs my hand and pulls my back against his chest, his
palm gliding around my waist, lightly holding me against him.

His breath tickles the nape of my neck when he whispers, “I understand
you need a little help with your writing.”

Warmth curls low in my belly. “My writing?”

“Yeah. I heard you might be looking for a way to free the
tension that’s got your words all jammed up.
I
can give you the release
you need.”

The throbbing from my head takes up residence in my pussy, each
heartbeat a reminder of how long it’s been since anyone has given me any kind
of
release
.

Call him on his bluff.
Leigh’s words come to mind,
bringing a smile with them.

“Is that so?” I twist in his embrace until we’re face to
face.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

My stomach quivers as something comes over me—call it
mischief, stupidity, or insanity. It doesn’t really matter.

Steadying myself by holding on to his rock hard biceps, I
stand on my tip-toes and nip his lip. “I think you just want to kiss me.”

Lord, what has gotten into me?

“Oh, I want to do way more than
that
.”

His lips crash into mine. His arms tighten around my waist
as he walks me backward to the chaise lounge. He sucks in my bottom lip as he
lays me down.

This is
not
the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

I surrender to the sensations rocking me. He nestles his
hard-on against the pulse beating between my legs. His body covers me as he
plunders my mouth and his hand wanders to my breast. He drags his teeth across
my lip and grinds his hips against mine, pressing his erection closer.

It’s been so long. And I think he
really
wants me.

Me.

Adam’s tongue slashes mine as he deepens the kiss. He trails
kisses from the corner of my mouth down the side of my neck to my collarbone. I
arch my back, crushing my breast into his palm. He squeezes as he pushes the
top of my cami down to taste my nipple, running his tongue around the pink bud
and sending a spark of pleasure straight to my pussy.

I grab the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it up so I can run
my hands over the heated skin of his back. Muscles ripple beneath my fingertips
as they dance across the contours of his torso. I close my eyes tighter,
reveling in the feel of him.

All the while, I do my best to push away the little voice in
the recesses of my mind sending out warnings.

This is truly nuts.

Plain irresponsible.

After all, I don’t know this guy from—from—well,
Adam
.

A giggle bursts from my lips just as he pops the snap on my
pants.

He pulls up short. “What’s funny?”

I throw my hand over my face, my grin refusing to fade.
“Nothing. Really.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Sorry. I had a thought.” I bite my lips together trying to
stem the next wave of giggles.

He props up on his elbows. “A
thought
made you laugh…
in the middle of
that
?”

I nod.

“Care to share?” He quirks one eyebrow.

I lean up to kiss his fur-covered chin. “Not in the least.”

“Sharing
is
caring.” He pushes up until he hovers
over me.