Page 43
When I can no longer hear her heel-clicks, I round on Lawton. “What was that?”
“Don’t know about you, but I don’t believe that doomsday shit,” Lawton says, wincing as he adjusts himself in his jeans. I avert my gaze. “We should ask him if he thinks the moon landing was fake.”
Really? He just kissed me like that and he’s talking about the moon landing?
“We should talk about that kiss. What was that?” I lean down to pick up the scattered papers from the desk. Nothing but Wild West Interiors ads.
“All right,” he says. “Kissing happens when two people hate each other, but also can’t stop—”
“That’s not—” I suck in a breath. “Did you need to shove your tongue down my throat?”
“Nope,” he pops out. “That was all for me.”
Another joke.
Does he take anything seriously? I look away, refusing to let him see how much he’s rattled me. “Well, don’t kiss me again. Not like that.”
He cocks his head. “Like what?”
I swallow, and the second before I speak feels like an eternity. “Like it was something real.”
“Who says that was real?” he says, the words scraping out of him.
I force myself to look at him. “I think I can tell the difference.”
He steps forward until there’s nothing but a sliver of air between our lips. “That kiss? It was fake. But if I ever kiss you again, I’ll make damn sure you know it’s real.”
My next breath gets caught in my throat. He’s cradling my cheek in his hand, but I won’t be held. Not by him. If I ever let my guard down, he’ll probably throw it back in my face one day.
I rip my chin away, striding out the office door. “Thanks for clarifying. I was already mentally planning our wedding with a full caviar bar.”
He follows me down the hallway. “Like I would marry a woman who eats caviar.”
“I forgot,” I whisper. “Your dream girl thinks jalapeño poppers are gourmet.”
“They are gour—”
I round on him, pushing him back against a brass candelabra sconce. He stops talking. I angle my head up to meet his eyes, more black now than brown. “Let me make this clear, I wouldn’t touch you with a thousand-foot pole, unless that pole had an electric current running through it.”
His nostrils flare. “Feeling’s mutual. The only thing I want is to ruin you.”
There’s a moment where all we do is stare, no other words come out. He’s making me want, but I don’t want to feel this way about someone who despises me. I want a love worth screaming about, complete with matching bedazzled pistols.
If I can’t be adored, I’d rather be alone.
I pull back. Nod. “Good.”
“Great,” he bites out.
“Excellent.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“Next time,” I say to get the last word. “We’re going with the Dyson excuse.”
He finally looks at me, and there’s a shift in his cedar eyes. I can’t read him, and I don’t want to. I’d rather fool myself into believing there’s something soft there, but then he saunters down the hallway like that kiss never happened, which is fine.
Perfect, actually.
