Living with this man is a very bad idea.
Even if it’s only temporary.
For one thing, I’d like to drag my tongue up the side of his neck just to taste him.
For another, his vehicle smells like cedar, leather, and bad decisions.
Or maybe that’s him.
He pauses and looks at me. “Behave, Peyton.”
Then he grins, steps back, and shuts the door, leaving me in here sweating, my stomach flip-flopping.
Oh, God.
Is he a mind reader?
The luggage is tossed in the back. Voices float through the open trunk, but I don’t hear them. I’m too busy having an existential crisis.
When Daltyn climbs in beside me and starts the vehicle, I glance at him, my fingers digging into the seat to hide the way they’re shaking.
“Behave? What’s that mean?” My voice shakes, betraying me.
He glances at me, amused, then hands me my shoe. “What do you think it means?”
Oh, no.
We aren’t doing that.
I release the death grip on the seat and take my shoe from him. “I don’t know.”
He backs out of the space without saying a word. Every second feels like a bomb about to detonate.
“What does it mean?” My voice is shrill.
He glances at me. “It means, stop fighting me when I’m trying to help you.”
The light turns green, and he accelerates, turning onto the highway.
“Do you want a coffee?” he asks, like he didn’t just make me speechless and tick me off.
I sigh, staring at my pretty shoe, then down at my swollen ankle “Yeah.”
Damn. I sound pitiful.
“Prop it on the dash.”
I glance over at him. He’s frowning at my ankle.
Without a word, I lift it, trying not to moan in pain. The damn thing hurts like hell.
“Good girl.” His voice is low and raspy, sending goosebumps racing across my skin. Again.
I don’t say anything.
I can’t.
Not while my panties are wet from his words.
