TheBurnList (2 page)

Chapter Two

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Beer in hand, stretched out on his couch watching
SportsCenter
on ESPN, Lukas shot a glare at the door.
Who the hell rang his doorbell at nine
o’clock?
Anyone he knew would call first.
That left a solicitor, politicians or
religious fanatics.
After a twenty-four-hour shift and the war he’d waged on
the weeds, he had no patience for any of them.
He threw the remote on the
coffee table and downed a third of his bottle in one long swallow.

The doorbell rang again.

Persistent sons of bitches.
He shrugged.
They’d get bored
soon enough and move on to the next house.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

He raked his hand through his hair and let out a growl.
If
they wouldn’t go away, he’d make them wish they had.
He put down the beer and
sprang up off the couch, stalking to the door.
He flung it open.
“What the fu—”

The expletive died on his lips.

Abby Simmons stood before him, a bottle of margarita mix in
one hand, Jose Cuervo in the other.

Ah hell.
He couldn’t yell at sweet little Abby, he’d scare
the poor girl to death.
In the year he’d lived here, she’d never once stopped
by.
It was one of the things he liked best about her, so he couldn’t find fault
with her impromptu visit.
He plastered a friendly smile on his face.
“Hey,
Abby, what’s up?”

“Hi, can I come in?”
she asked, her tone bright and
cheerful.

He frowned, studying her.
Head tilted to the side, color
rose high on her cheekbones as glassy brown eyes blinked back at him.
Normally
she wore her brown hair in a ponytail, but this evening it tumbled around her
shoulders in a mass of thick waves.
She looked…pretty, sweet and, if he had to
guess, drunk.

He had a sudden desire to force her back to her house.
Drunk
girls on their birthdays were a recipe for disaster.
But he couldn’t turn her
away.
Even after a long shift, he didn’t have the heart to say no to her.
She
was too nice and his mom had always taught him to be a gentleman to nice girls.

Besides, she probably just needed something.
Salt perhaps?

“Sure, come on in.”
He stepped aside, gesturing her in with
a wave of his arm.
She swayed as though she wore four-inch heels.
He glanced
down, his attention snagged on her breasts, and froze.
Smooth, creamy skin
contrasted with the black spaghetti-strap tank top, revealing a set of full
breasts so perfect they made his mouth suddenly water.
Ripe and round, plump
flesh spilled from her tiny top and hard nipples poked the fabric.
His throat
went dry.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t
throw him, but this was
Abby
.

Jesus, he was staring.

He ripped his gaze away from those breasts and broke into a
sweat over a killer set of legs showcased to perfection in skintight jeans.
This was what she’d been hiding under those ill-fitting, too-big clothes that
hung off her like a burlap sack?
But why?

He shook his head to clear it from his inappropriate
thoughts.
Pretty pink toes peeked out from under the hem of her jeans.
She’d
walked over in bare feet.
Concerned, he raised his gaze to meet hers.
“Is
everything okay?”

“Everything’s great.
Why?”
A big grin slid over her glossy
pink lips.
Full, lush lips he’d never noticed before.

He pointed at her bare toes.
“You don’t have any shoes on.”

She looked down, shrugging.
“I brought drinks.”

“I can see that.”
He said the words slowly, carefully.
All
his instincts kicked into high alert as if he’d just heard the five-alarm bell.
He’d seen her in her backyard plenty of times on the weekends, and she sure as
hell hadn’t been dressed like this, so why the change?
He had a bad feeling
about this.

She giggled and crossed over the threshold, weaving as she
made her way into the foyer.

Okay, she was definitely drunk.

When she’d gotten home, she seemed a little depressed, she
must want someone to drown her sorrows with, and since she’d already started on
those margaritas, he was the closest person within walking distance.

That must be it.
Abby was nothing if not responsible.
If he
hadn’t been so distracted by her unexpected visit, he’d have thought better
than to ask her in, but he couldn’t turn her away now.
He shut the door and
trailed after her.
“It appears you’ve already started on those drinks, little
girl.”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled those pink glossed
lips, and he was disconcerted when his cock stirred to life.

“You may not have noticed, but I’m not a little girl.”
She
practically purred the words, her voice sounding nothing like his nice little
neighbor.
She weaved her way to the couch, placed the bottles on his apothecary
coffee table, which had been a present from his sister and plopped down on the
couch.
She eyed him like a hungry cat eyed a big, juicy steak, rubbing the seat
cushion next to her in slow, rhythmic circles.
“Aren’t you going to come sit
down?”

He stifled a sigh.
Drunk
and
horny.
A combination
most men enjoyed, himself included, but this was Abby.
Sweet, nice, quiet Abby.
Even if she was his type he couldn’t make a move on her.
They were neighbors.
Girls like Abby liked commitment and strings—he did neither.
If she had an
itch, she’d be getting it scratched by someone else.

He’d be nice, polite and keep his distance.
Hopefully she
wouldn’t say anything she’d be too embarrassed by.
Really, it was good she’d
come here versus going to some sleazy pick-up joint.
He cringed, thinking of
the men who’d be happy to take advantage of her.
As soon as she sobered up,
she’d be thankful to have left his house unscathed with her virtue intact, and
they could have a good laugh about this.

Ignoring her blatant invitation, he took a seat on the chair
across from her.
Elbows on his knees, he narrowed his gaze, ready to nip
whatever crazy idea she had in the bud.

She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.

A sudden, visceral image of sliding his cock in between her
lips filled his head.
He scowled.
For god’s sake, what was wrong with him?
This
was Abby.
His
neighbor
.
He raked a hand through his hair, shaking his
head.
He needed to stick to the plan.
Putting on his calmest expression, he
asked, “What can I do for you, Abby?”

She giggled like a sixteen-year-old.
“Funny you should ask.”

He arched a brow, hoping he looked stern.
“How much have you
had to drink?”

“Enough to go after what I want.”
She gave him a long,
meaningful stare.
“But not enough that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Gut tightening, he stifled a groan.
Whatever you do,
don’t ask.
“Sounds like too much to me.”

She laughed a full, throaty rumble that shot straight to his
balls.
“What are you, my dad?”

“Somebody needs to look out for you.
And since I’m the one
here, that makes it my job.”

“And what makes you think that’s what I want?”
A sinful
smile curled over that mouth.
Jesus, how had he ever missed that porn star
mouth?
“Maybe I have other jobs in mind for you.”

He gave her his most friendly smile, the one he used to calm
the elderly, and scooped the bottle of tequila from the table and put it on the
floor next to his chair.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink.
Why don’t I get
you home so you can sleep it off, Abby?”

Brown eyes flickered and a tiny frown curved over her lips
while her shoulders slumped.
He felt like an asshole, but really, he was doing
this for her own good.

“You want me to go home?”
She blinked at him, looking as
sweet and innocent as a newborn foal.
“But, I want to stay here…and do…stuff.”

Ah hell.
Now she was being all vulnerable.
This wouldn’t
work at all.
The last thing he wanted was to reject her on her birthday, but he
couldn’t take her up on her offer either.
He sat back in his chair and contemplated
his options.

Maybe he needed to approach this from a different angle.
Obviously, she had sex on the brain and was intent on going through with her
drunken plan.
But maybe he could get her to reject him.
She was a good girl.
She never brought guys home.
He was fairly sure with the way she acted and
dressed, she was innocent.
She might want sex, but he was positive she didn’t
want the kind of sex he liked.
Nice girls never did.
Once she knew the score,
she’d hightail it right out of there.

Problem solved.
He’d scare her straight.

Liking his plan, he relaxed.
Scooping up his discarded beer,
he met her big brown eyes and gave her his best come-on stare while raising the
bottle to take a long drink.
She managed to hold the gaze for fifteen seconds
before her eyes slid away and her cheeks blushed a pretty pink.

He bit back his grin.
This was going to be a piece of cake.
“And what kind of ‘stuff’ did you have in mind, Abby?”

“Um…well…” She cleared her throat and straightened in her
chair, a determined expression creasing her brow.
“The thing is, I’m thirty
now…and well…I’m sure someday I’ll marry some nice man, but the thing is,
before I do, I want to experience something…different.”

“So, you want to take a walk on the wild side?”
He figured
he’d help her cut to the chase.
The sooner he got this over with, the better.

“Yes,” she said, her fingers coming up to twist the silver
necklace at her throat.
She bit her bottom lip and uncertainty flashed over her
face for a fraction of a second, only to be replaced by a stubborn tilt of the
chin and shoulder-straightening resolve.
“Yes, I have some fantasies…”

What kind of fantasies?
He wanted to know.
His cock pressed
uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans and he came face-to-face with the
truth that he was enticed by her.
All that innocence, her flushed, pretty face
and killer body far more tempting than her bottle of tequila would ever be.

When was the last time he’d been with someone other than a
party girl?
When was the last time he’d been surprised?
He couldn’t remember.
Which was why she needed to leave.
Time to shock her before this went any
further.
“You want to know what it feels like to get fucked properly, is that
it?”

Her eyes went wide as saucers and color rolled up her neck
to splash over her cheeks.
Damn, didn’t she realize she telegraphed every
thought and feeling she had on her face like a neon sign?

She shook her head and her hand fluttered to her throat.
“That’s one way to put it.”

He took another drink of beer, hoping the few extra seconds
would help him find the inner strength to keep up the charade.
“And how exactly
can I help you with this?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and her cleavage almost
fell out of her damn top.
He shifted, trying unsuccessfully to make his jeans
more comfortable.

“Well…you…” she cleared her throat, “look like you know what
you’re doing.”

“Thank you, I do.”

“In that case, I was wondering…” Spine snapping straight,
she took a huge gulp of air before saying on a rush, “I was wondering if maybe
you wouldn’t mind teaching me a few things.”

Fuck.
He fought the urge to push her to the couch and make
her come six ways ’til Sunday.
That would be wrong.
Very, very wrong.
While
keeping his expression blank, he asked, “So you’ve chosen me to fulfill your
sexual fantasies?”