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The snort that left her made his frown deepen. He was now standing in her living room, of course, wearing a perfectly pressed suit that seemed to defy the fact that he’d been on a plane only a short time ago. With no other choice but to deal with him, she released the door and let the screen slam shut. But she didn’t have to be happy about it.
Toni jammed her hands on her hips. “That’s rich coming from someone who not only wasn’t invited but isn’t wanted. And Zach may have interrupted us, but I’d already told you we were through and I repeated it to you on the phone the other day. So you can’t blame Zach for your actions.”
Chris advanced on her, and even though he wasn’t an intimidating figure, the hair on the back of Toni’s neck stood on end. Something about the look in his eyes screamed of desperation. Desperate people were unpredictable. “Seems like you and Zach got pretty friendly. You fucking him now?”
She gasped. “What? Geez, Chris. No, I’m not fucking him. Or anyone, for that matter. But you know what? If I wanted to fuck the whole damn MC, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
Where on earth was this coming from? Wasn’t Chris the one who always said swearing was the mark of an uneducated person? Not that she agreed with the comment, since she could swear like a sailor when riled and quite enjoyed it, but to hear him ask if she was fucking someone was so unlike him. The unease she’d felt seconds before morphed into anger as she stood on her toes in an attempt to get in his face.
Instead of firing another insulting question at her, he threw his head back and laughed as though she’d told the funniest joke in the world. “That’d be just like a whore like you, wouldn’t it?”
“Excuse me?” The unease was back in full force. Unease and nausea as his comment hit a little too close to home. Could he know? Was is possible he knew about the mistakes of her past?
“Look at you,” he flung a hand in her direction. “What the hell are you wearing? You look like a slut.”
Gazing down at herself, Toni fought for control of her tongue. And her fists. Ramming one into his arrogant mouth would feel great. “I’m wearing a halter top and cutoffs. I’m alone in my home and it’s hot out. What would you have me wear, thermals?” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Hitting the jerk wouldn’t solve anything.
But boy, would it be satisfying.
“It gets hot in Chicago. You never dressed like that. Like you were for sale.”
For sale? Red clouded her vision. “Oh my God. Who are you? The clothing police? Do you even hear yourself?” She marched away and stared out the window. The sky was a gorgeous picture of pinks, purples, and oranges swirling as though an artist’s brush had created them. As had become custom, the sight brought an inner peace.
Something flickered in the corner of her field of vision. A squirrel or other small creature on Zach’s property drew her attention to his house. He had the habit of arriving home for a few minutes in the evenings when she was out on the porch. Probably going from his job at the gym to the clubhouse. He’d throw her a wave, run in his house, and be back on the bike before she fully had the chance to appreciate the view.
Would he do that tonight? Would he wonder why she wasn’t in her spot on the porch? Would he notice Chris’s car? She almost laughed out loud at the idea of Chris seeing the women that hung around the MC. If he thought she was a slut, his prude ass would drop dead right then and there.
“You know what I hear?” he asked after a few moments. “I hear you. Or I remember hearing you. ‘Fuck me harder, Chris. I want more, Chris.’” A look of disgust twisted his features as he spoke, mimicking her in a breathless tone.
How. Dare. He.
How dare he take what was supposed to be intimate, pleasurable, and special between them and turn it into something shameful. How dare he mock her desires. Sure, she liked sex. Liked it a little dirtier, a little rawer, a little rougher than he did. Hell, she just seemed to like it in general more than Mr. Missionary and Mr. Once-a-week did. He thought she was too much for him? If he only knew how much of her sexual self she suppressed when she was with him. How much she hid. How she squashed her own desires.
None of that really had anything to do with him. It was her own self-imposed restraint due to her past, but still. Nothing she asked of him, and nothing they shared, even bordered on kinky. It was as vanilla as it came.
