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Oh no.
“You like that, Juliet?” he whispers darkly.
“No.”
As if being egged on, he pushes his hips up against mine, pinning me to the sink.
Okay, what the hell is happening right now? This man is sick and twisted and about to fuck my working-life friendships up.
“Need any help cleaning up?” He pulls my hair around one side of my neck and licks me up the length of it, and my knees nearly buckle beneath me. “My little puppy.” He pinches my stomach.
I give him a swift sharp elbow to the ribs. “Stop calling me that.”
He kisses me again on the neck. His teeth graze my skin, and I begin to feel it to my toes. “What about this? Do you like this?” He pushes forward harder with his hips, and I begin to feel faint.
It has become disturbingly apparent that I would, in fact, actually do doggy kink for this man.
Whatever the hell doggy kink is.
The guests slowly collect their things, and Henley grabs my hand as we walk them out. We stand on the curb, and as I’m talking to them, he dusts his thumb tenderly over the back of my hand as if forgetting that he hates me.
I glance up at him, and something shifts as we stare at each other.
What exactly that is I just don’t know.
“You must come to my wedding next weekend, Henley.” Debbie smiles as she kisses us both.
Wait . . . did we just have a moment?
“He’s busy,” I reply.
“Thank you, Debbie.” Henley smiles, completely ignoring me. “That would be lovely.”
I look up at him in horror. You are not coming; this has been the most stressful day of my life.
“Goodbye,” Warren says. He kisses me on the cheek and then shakes Henley’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Henley.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Henley replies in his smooth voice.
I wave as the cars all drive away, and as they slowly turn around the corner, Henley drops my hand like a hot potato. “You are not forgiven,” he snaps.
“I’m not forgiven?” I gasp. “Your father and your brother?” I fume. “My work friends think I’m a crazy ho. Thanks a lot.”
“If the shoe fits, Juliet.” He storms off toward his house.
“And don’t you ever call me puppy again,” I call after him. He marches through his front door and slams it with a bang.
Ugh . . . infuriating.
Asshole.
It’s 10:00 p.m. I hear a car pull onto our street and look out the window to see it pull into Henley’s driveway.
Who’s that at this hour?
I peer through the side of my curtains, but at just that exact moment, the lights go off in the car and I can’t see into the car. I quickly go out the back door and sneak around to the front through the side gate.
In the darkness, I can see someone sitting in a sporty white Mercedes, and I peer over the hedge.
