“He had enough on his hands with his own woman, add in you and your sister…” He grunted. “Not sure how he would’ve handled all three of you if I hadn’t showed to take you home.” He stroked her jaw with his thumb, his gaze following the movement. “Don’t go getting all pissed. I’m just looking out for you.”
He kept stroking her face, her neck, the sensation making her shiver. Suddenly staying angry at him seemed too much effort.
“You tell him about me, Rusty?”
“What?”
“Your brother, you told him we’re talking.”
Jesus. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah. He knew who I was and why I was there.” He gave her hip a squeeze. “I liked that.”
She gave his shoulders a light shove. “Arrogant.”
He chuckled. “You love it.”
Dammit, he was right. She did. “Look, thanks for getting me home, and yes, my brother knows about you. I also get that you were worried, but none of that gives you the right to issue orders and expect me to follow them like a good girl. That’s never going to happen.”
His gaze sharpened, that square jaw going hard. “I don’t love the thought of you in a room full of drunks. It’s not me ordering you about. It’s me taking care of what’s mine. End of story.”
His? Holy shit. Her heart picked up pace.
He curled his fingers around the side of her neck, thumb brushing just below her ear. “And yeah, I like that you told your brother about me…means you’ve been thinking about me, and not just when I call. So you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” Then he grinned, and it was hot as hell, all straight white teeth and sexy beard. “Gotta say, despite being shit-faced, you were entertaining as hell. Cute, too.”
Her face heated again. “Do not say another word.”
His smile got bigger. “Found out besides stripping, you get chatty when you’ve been drinking.”
She cringed. “What did I—” She cut herself off abruptly as more hazy flashes of memory broke through.
“You remember our chat in the car?” he said, smug as hell.
It all came back, and she covered her face with her hands. “Shoot me now.”
“Fuck no.” He pulled her hands down, holding them both in one of his, and slid a finger under her chin with the other. He tipped her head up so she was looking at him. “Not after you told me what you’ve been doing when you think of me.”
She groaned, and he chuckled darkly, the low sound making her shiver. “Well, at least I’ve finally worked out what the I in R.I.P. stands for…”
“Irresistible?” More goddamn smirking.
She rolled her eyes. “No. Irritating.”
He stared at her for a long time, until that wicked smile slowly disappeared and something else replaced it, something that made her suck in a shaky breath. “I don’t think you get it, Foxy. That you’ve been thinking about me, while you get yourself off? That’s hot as fuck. I’ve been hard ever since you told me. You’re killing me, you know that, right?”
“You’re lucky, then,” she mumbled, lifting her hand to her pounding head. He laughed suddenly, pulling her into him and kissing the top of her head. She scowled against his hard, warm chest, trying to ignore how much she liked being there. “I don’t see how any of this is funny.”
“You’re right. There’s nothing funny about blue balls. But if I don’t laugh, I’ll fucking weep.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
He gave her ass a squeeze. “No thanks to you.” He kissed her hair again. “I gotta go. I wanted to see you later, but I’m thinking you’re gonna need a day. Yeah?”
She nodded against his shirt. “Yeah.”
He leaned back and looked down at her. “You wanna do dinner tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He made a rough sound and stared at her with so much heat she was surprised he didn’t pick her up and carry her back to her bedroom. “Seven thirty?”
Her lips tipped up at the corners. She couldn’t help it. She was looking forward to it, looking forward to spending time with him. “Sounds good.”
His fingers slid into her hair, and he leaned in, brushing his lips over hers. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.” Then he let her go, and those long, powerful legs carried him out the door.
What was she getting herself into? He overwhelmed her, excited her, scared the crap out of her. There was more between them than just lust, she felt it, saw it in the way he looked at her, heard it in the things he said. The man was a force to be reckoned with. She had no hope of stopping the freight train that was Reid Parker.
And the funny thing was, despite the risks, she didn’t want to.
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Nine
Reid pulled back his damp hair, tying it in a knot at the base of his skull, and grabbed his black shirt from the closet.
It’s me taking care of what’s mine.
Mine.
He still couldn’t believe he’d said those words to her. But yesterday morning, standing in her kitchen, shit, it was as if someone else had taken control over his vocal cords. That one small sentence—it was not him. Those words should not be coming from a man like him, and went completely against the way he chose to live his life, the way he had been living his life for as long as he could remember.
But he couldn’t walk away, not yet. Staying at her place, surrounded by her things, her scent, knowing she was in the next room, had driven him bat-shit crazy. The need to stake some kind of claim over her was not something he could ignore. He realized that now. Just what that was, what it meant, he had no clue. Something had changed, though. Rusty had dropped her guard a fraction more, let him see another piece of her. And he liked it. Liked everything she showed him.
Both women had been out cold when he got them home, and neither had batted an eyelid when he’d carried them to the porch seat, not until the alarm went off when he’d used Rusty’s key to get in. Thankfully, Piper had roused herself long enough to punch in the code, then stumbled to bed.
That left him and Rusty. After he’d carried her to her room, woken her so he could get her to drink a glass of water, dodged her cute yet sexy attempt at a striptease, he’d watched her curl up under the covers and pass out.
Leaving her had not been easy.
He’d never, not once, had the urge to just sleep with a woman, without fucking, but he’d wanted to get into bed beside Rusty, pull her into his arms, and hold her. Which was messed up.
Instead, he’d taken the couch, the foreign urge enough of a kick in the pants to get him out of her room. Still, he hadn’t left her place, couldn’t.
Then in the kitchen the next morning, even hungover, she was gorgeous. And when he’d pulled her into his arms…shit. He didn’t know how she did it, went from redhead vixen to sweet and shy, totally innocent, but she did, and just that glimpse of vulnerability nearly did him in.
But when she smiled, giving it to him without any barriers, full-on happy…Christ, he loved it. She hadn’t been hiding from him, she’d let him see what she was feeling, and it had taken all his strength not to lead her down the hall to her bedroom and show her exactly how much that pleased him.
Shit was getting complicated. His feelings for her were getting complicated. He’d never wanted another woman the way he wanted Rusty. Hell, he’d never put in this much effort for any woman in his life, never had to. He’d tried to fight it, but seeing that soft side and holding her in his arms had made it impossible.