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I push away from the railing to do that and catch movement from the corner of my eye. Over the hedges of bougainvillea I watch Kendall step out onto the patio next door. Our house sits higher on the hill, which gives me a bird’s-eye view of their backyard. Late afternoon sun sends long shadows across the lot, but there’s enough light for me to see she’s traded the Winnie the Pooh pajamas for a snug raglan shirt and a little pair of drawstring sweat shorts that ride the flare of her hips. Her hair is swept up into a careless bundle, and I can’t help but notice the graceful arch of her neck. She stands there, still and beautiful as a statue.
Then the statue stretches her arms high over her head. Her face tilts toward the sky, and my throat goes dry at the pull of her shirt across her full, upswept breasts.
Matt or Dylan cranks up the volume on the game—something they tend to do when they’re in and out of the living room and they don’t want to miss anything. Sound surges. Kendall’s arms drop quickly, and her head swivels my way, clearly annoyed. Good. That makes two of us. My car’s due any moment, but the knowledge doesn’t stop me from stalking down the deck stairs, around the hedge, and into my neighbors’ meticulously maintained English countryside of a yard. Part of me hopes she retreats into the house.
But she doesn’t retreat. Not an inch. She crosses her arms, plants her feet, and faces me as I approach, her chin tilted up at a take-your-best-shot angle. She’s braced for a fight, and all of a sudden I have none in me.
“This is yours.” The words come out slightly winded, and I hold the blue bag out to her.
She crosses her arms a little tighter and backs up a step. “I can’t accept it, Vaughn. I don’t know what you think giving me a fancy gift accomplishes, but—”
“It says ‘thank you.’”
“It says more than that.” She glances away for a moment, and when she makes eye contact again, I’m at a loss for reading them. “You don’t have to buy my silence with pretty gifts, you know. I’m not going to tell anyone about last night.”
I never doubted that, but apparently she doubted my motives. I tamp down on my cynicism. “Okay. Thanks.”
She straightens her spine. “And I’m not going to fall into bed with you because you bought me something pretty.” Early evening shade can’t dim the pink in her cheeks.
Obviously I haven’t corned the market on cynicism. “I’m glad you think it’s pretty.” I push the bag at her again. “And I’m sorry if I confused you. I’m not trying to buy anything. Not your body—which is amazing, but clearly not for sale—or your silence. Not even your forgiveness. Seriously, Kendall, I just want to say ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you.’ You looked out for a stranger. You cared enough to get involved. I like to think maybe the next time you’re feeling like no good deed goes unpunished, you’ll put on the pendant and remember someone appreciates what you did for him.”
All the pink drains out of her face. “It was nothing.”
“Not to me.”
She bites her lip, and her gaze drops to the bag I’m still holding out like a dumbass dork. What else can I say?
“There’s a gift receipt in the box, if you don’t like it…”
Her eyes find mine. “No. I like it. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“Then take it. Please.” I’m not so off my game that I can’t remember to say the magic word.
Reluctantly, she lifts the bag from my hand. Skin slides over skin in the process, and I endure a quick and dirty fantasy of those hesitant fingers sliding down my chest, over my stomach, and into my jeans.
Not a chance. Maybe not, but the memory of having her back against my chest this morning comes back to tease me, and all at once I have to do better than a simple pass-off. “Wait. Hand it over,” I say, curling my fingers toward my palm.
She stops in the process of taking the box out of the bag. “What?”
“Give it here.” I reach over and pluck the box out of her hand then I crouch and put my beer on the brick patio. “Turn around.”
Her hesitant look challenges my command, but she slowly turns around. I take the pendant out of the box and put the box next to the bottle. Then I stand, step close to her—close enough to smell the clean, herbal scent of her shampoo—and drape the pendant around her neck. The key slips low into the three-button front of her shirt for a moment. The very tip nestles between her breasts, and the poke of her nipples through the cotton tells me I’m not the only one who enjoys the unintentional detour. I lean closer to secure the clasp, and the wispy hairs on the back of her neck flutter in the breeze created by my breath.
“H-have you got it?”
Her body heat scorches through my shirt. She shifts her weight from one foot to another, and her backside brushes the front of my jeans. I force myself to keep my hands on the clasp and not drop them to her hips to hold her in place while I grind my painfully eager cock into the cushion of her ass.
There are a hundred girls in your phone who will fuck you up, down, and sideways if you say the word, and you’re down here rubbing up against one who would probably slap your face for even thinking about making a move.
“Got it.” I smooth my hands over her shoulders and slowly back away.
She turns to me and touches the pendant.
“It suits you. Beautiful and delicate, but strong at the core.”
I don’t know how I expect her to react, but the uncertain look takes me by surprise.
“I’m… You really don’t know me well enough to say that.”
