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She glared at him. “You be careful.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You think you know me so well, Lassie?”
His dark brows lifted over his green eyes.
With confidence and lust surging through her, she set her wine glass down and grabbed him by the collar. “Did you see this coming?” Then she yanked him forward, taking his mouth and wedging her tongue inside.
She thought for sure he’d pull away, or even worse push her away, but he didn’t. He removed his hand from her thigh and curled it around the back of her head, threading his fingers into her hair and tugging slightly on her scalp, taking control of the kiss.
She melted into his body, pressing her hand to his chest and feeling the hard heat of him beneath her palm. Her pulse thundered in her ears and when she let her hand drift down to the front of his pants to feel him, she nearly bit off his tongue when she realized what he was packing in those dark trousers.
She gave a little gasp against his mouth and his gritty laugh as he pulled his lips from hers had her entire body getting tight.
“You’re a brat,” he said, taking his wine glass from the table and putting it to his lips.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she replied, her eyes surreptitiously drifting down to the front of his pants as her tongue slid along the seam of her lips.
“I hope not.” His fingers found their way back to the inside of her thigh.
56
Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Presentday…
“You punched him?” Peyton asked, the shock causing her eyebrows to fly up to her hairline.
“In the moment, he deserved it. It was either kiss him or hit him, so I chose the lesser of two evils. Since neither of us are cheaters.” Rayma glanced at the knuckles on her right hand. They were a little bruised, but not too bad. She’d put ice on them as soon as she got into her basement suite, then she proceeded to slide to the floor against her kitchen island and cry until nearly three o’clock in the morning.
How fucking dare he?
How dare he think that ghosting her was helping her move on?
Were all men really that dense? She was beginning to think that they were.
“How are you feeling?” Rayma asked, desperate to change the subject. She’d gone to her volunteer gig at the women’s shelter then picked up coffee and pumpkin scones at the coffee shop and gone to visit Peyton at home.
Peyton’s parents were devastated over what happened to their daughter and almost seemed afraid to leave her in a room alone. It was sweet in a helicopter parent kind of way.
“It looks worse than it feels,” Peyton said, gingerly touching the cut on her cheek with the pads of her right fingers.
“Well, it looks godawful, so it must at least feel terrible,” her mother, Tracy, said, tutting her tongue before coming over to Peyton to adjust her pillows and tuck the blanket tighter around her legs.
“Not helping, mom,” Peyton said with equal parts irritation as affection.
Her mother ignored her, turning her attention to Rayma. “Will you be staying for dinner, Rayma honey?”
“Oh, Mrs. Doucet, I don’t want to impose. I just came to check on my bestie.”
“Nonsense. I’m making lasagna, plenty for all. I’ll set a place for you.” She gave her daughter one final long look of sadness before leaving them be in the living room.
“She means well,” Rayma said, turning back to Peyton.
“It’s just a bit much right now,” Peyton said with a sigh, her gray eyes tired. “They’re taking it really personally. My dad’s been on the phone with his lawyer practically all day. He wants to sue Higgins and Fletcher.”
