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“Your turn,” I say, and lift her in my arms to haul her inside the cabin. But before I do, I deliver a warning: “You’ve managed to delay this conversation, McKenzie, but I won’t forget. It’s decided. Youwillgo to the party with me.”
When I’m not in a sexual haze, I might realize what a dangerous road I’m taking as I continue to delve into my infatuation with McKenzie Beaumont.
Chapter Twenty-One
McKenzie
“It’s a good thing I don’t spend every weekend like that one,” I say as we approach my house, a yawn slipping from me before I’m able to stop it.
“I thought it was a pretty great weekend,” Byron says. He’s been grumpy since we left the cabin.
“It’s not that I didn’t have an amazing time, but I need sleep. Most humans do,” I tell him with a false laugh. The closer we get to my house, the more downcast I feel. Our time is about up.
I’ve managed to distract him from his discussion of next Friday’s party, but only because I’m well aware he’ll regret inviting me the minute he drops me off. He’s on a sex high right now, but I have no illusions about where I stand with Byron.
We’re consenting adults, we had great sex, and now it’s done. We aren’t a couple, never will be a couple, and this is something I need to keep reminding myself. We’ve managed to spend a couple of days together without the walls caving in around us, but that doesn’t mean we’re compatible.
Anyone can have sex. It’s a natural instinct — survival of the horniest. But men like Byron Astor don’t settle down, and if they do, certainly not with women like me. I need to appreciate the wonderful weekend, finish my time at Astor Construction, and get on with my life.
After pulling into my driveway, he shuts off the engine and turns. “Invite me in, McKenzie.” The intensity in his voice nearly makes me issue an invitation.
At the last minute I manage to keep my mouth shut and do my best to find the right words. “We both know that’s not a good idea. I invite you in, we head straight to my bedroom. We had our weekend. It’s time to go back to our real lives,” I say as I undo my seatbelt. I have to get away from this man — the sooner, the better.
“You know you aren’t ready for this weekend to end, McKenzie.” He reaches over and cups my neck before I exit the car. “Your body knows what I can give, so stop fighting me every step of the way.” This sounds like a command.
“My body — along with every other part of me, including my sad and muddled brain — is exhausted.”
His eyes grow soft, and a beautiful smile fills his sensuous mouth. “Then we’ll only have dinner — no sex,” he says, looking as innocent as he possibly can.
Though I’m well aware I should say no to him, I nod. He’s right. I’m not ready for our weekend to end. It doesn’t count as a date when it’s still Sunday and we haven’t parted yet.
I have to scoff inwardly at this absurd rationalization for spending more time with him now that we’re back home. The more I prolong this, the more it’s going to batter away at my fragile heart. But knowing what’s best and acting accordingly are two entirely different things.
“Wait right there,” he says as he gets out of the car. I’m shocked when he comes to the passenger side and opens my door. Byron has never professed to be a gentleman, so what’s he doing?
“Thank you,” I say in a low voice, and wait while he grabs my bag.
We make it only a few feet down my driveway when I freeze. Byron isn’t expecting me to stop, and he bumps into me. Humiliation burns through me, and I fight tears as I gaze ahead.
“Call the police now,” he says through gritted teeth.
“There’s nothing they can do about this,” I say with a heartsick shake of my head.
“That’s bullshit, McKenzie. This is vandalism,” he thunders.
“Please calm down, Byron. I don’t need the neighbors alerted to what’s going on.” I need to find sandpaper, spray paint, and anything else that will erase what was done. Byron catches up to me before I’m able to unlock the front door with my shaking hand.
“Maybe one of the neighbors saw something, saw who did this.”
“I doubt it,” I say as I finally open the door.
“Something needs to be done about this!”
“Why, Byron?” I ask, feeling defeated. My humiliation, exhaustion, and stress has hit a peak. “You call me the same thing. So why do you care?”
He takes a step back as if I slapped him. “I don’t...” He trails off. What can he say after all that’s happened between us? I look out the window to see the wordwhoresprayed across my car and turn away again. It turns my stomach.
“Please go home, Byron. I need to fix this,” I tell him, so tired I can’t see straight anymore.
