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Easier said than done when, every time he inhaled, he caught the warm scent of vanilla that seemed to cling to Peyton’s skin and the sweet taste of her still lingered in his mouth from kissing her so damn thoroughly that he was surprised they hadn’t gone up in flames. It had been a close call, though, and the only reason they’d stopped was because a car had pulled into the empty parking spot next to them, which had brought him back to his senses.
Leo hadn’t intended for that kiss to spiral out of control, but the moment his tongue slid along hers and she purred so seductively in the back of her throat, he had to have more of her, and it quickly became clear that she felt the same. They’d made out like two sex-starved adults—which he suspected they both were—their mouths equally ravenous, while their hot and heavy breaths mingled with deeper, more urgent moans that had escalated the desire between them.
They’d been totally in sync, and all the blood in his body had rushed to his cock, making him throb with lust and the overwhelming urge to haul Peyton across the console so she could straddle his lap and give him better access to unbutton her blouse so he could continue those hot, damp kisses down to her pert breasts and suck on the tight furl of her nipples.
Fuck. He swallowed back a groan and shifted in his seat, grateful that they’d finally arrived at his townhouse so he could get out of the car and give his mind time to clear and his dick the opportunity to cool off so he didn’t do something rash like jump Peyton once they were alone in his place. The garage door opened with a press of a button, and he parked the Mustang inside.
“Come on in,” he said, keeping his tone casual as he glanced her way. “You can hang out in the living room while I pack a bag with some of my things.”
“Okay.” She smiled as she got out of the car and followed him inside the house.
The garage door led into a utility room with a washer and dryer, then transitioned into the kitchen and open-concept living room. “Would you like something to drink while you’re waiting?”
“I’m good,” she assured him with a wave of her hand. “Go do your thing. I’ll be fine.”
He headed up stairs to his master bedroom and pulled a large duffle bag from his closet. He filled it with enough clothes for a few days, since he’d be able to get more shirts and pants during the week if he needed them. After gathering his bathroom essentials, he put everything into a leather toiletry bag, zipped it up, and added it to his luggage. Fifteen minutes later, he was done and back in the living room, where Peyton was looking at the only framed photo he had on display.
When she heard him approaching from behind her, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I recognize your brothers from some of your pictures on Instagram, and I’m assuming this is your mom?” she asked curiously.
He nodded. “Yeah. That was taken recently, at my brother Aiden’s wedding, when he married Daisy.” The only reason he even had the framed picture was because his sister-in-law had given it to him as a gift, which Leo appreciated because his mother truly meant the world to him and they were lucky to still have her in their lives after her cancer scare.
“You all look so happy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest before tentatively asking, “Your father isn’t in the picture . . . Is he not around?”
He dropped his duffle onto the couch and shrugged. “He’s around . . . somewhere.” He wasn’t surprised to hear the bitterness that still coated his voice when he talked about his dad. “My parents are divorced and he wasn’t invited to the wedding.”
Startled by his abrupt tone, her eyes went wide. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, because I’m not, and neither are my brothers. My father is a selfish, egotistical prick.” He saw the curiosity flicker across her expression, and before she could ask, he went ah
ead and explained. “When my brothers and I were teenagers, we found out that my mother had breast cancer . . . and my dad decided that was the perfect time to tell our mother that he was having an affair with a much younger woman, and he wanted a divorce.”
Peyton gasped in shock.
“My dad didn’t bother to stick around while my mother battled the disease and went through months of chemo,” he said, not doing a thing to temper the resentment he still felt toward his father. “My brothers and I took care of her, and as far as we’re all concerned, he doesn’t deserve to be a part of any of our lives, weddings included.”
“I would agree,” she said softly. “That’s a really crappy thing to do to your family.”
Realizing how tense the conversation had made him, he rolled his stiff shoulders and focused on the positive. “My mom is an incredibly strong woman. She’s in remission and healthy and has a great guy in her life who is everything that my dad wasn’t.”
“I’m glad everything worked out for her,” Peyton said, her words and the caring tone of her voice sincere and genuine. Then, as if sensing it was time for a change in topic, she glanced around his spacious living room. “By the way, this is a nice townhome you have. Especially compared to my incredibly small seven-hundred-square-foot apartment I share with my roommate in the city.” Her tone was wry.
“Ahhh, the scene of the crime,” he teased, grateful for the lighter subject. “The location where you Photoshopped all those pictures of us and posted them on social media?”
She ducked her head, but not before he saw the adorable blush spreading across her cheeks. “Yeah, that would be the place.”
He pulled his phone from his front pocket and entered the pass code to unlock the screen, not overly questioning what he was about to suggest, even though it normally wasn’t something he’d do. “What do you say we take a real selfie and post it?”
“Okay,” she said with a smile.
Moving close behind her, he leaned down and put his face next to hers while stretching his arm out to take the photograph of the two of them together, grinning into the camera. Right before he snapped the picture, she turned her head and playfully placed her soft, puckered lips on his cheek. He laughed, then pulled up the snapshot that gave the impression that they were happily in love, and handed her his phone.
“Here, you upload the photo to your page,” he said, because it would be much harder to explain on his feed.
She logged into her Facebook account, the private one, and posted the picture with the caption, So happy to have my honey bear with me in San Diego!
He rolled his eyes at the silly pet name she’d given him for the sake of legitimizing their relationship—and no doubt to embarrass him. Except a small part of him was beginning to like being her honey bear, not that he’d ever admit it to her.
* * *
