Page 32 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

CHAPTER TEN

CHLOE

I swear, when I found that damn goat munching on my chrysanthemums, I knew its presence was Paynt’s doing. And after my initial irritation over having an animal in my yard, my heart thawed, just a bit.

He’d planted the goat on purpose, a prank to goad me into interacting with him again. Despite the way we’d left things the last time we spoke, he still wanted to see me, to talk to me, maybe to do ... other things.

Like kissing. And maybe not just on the mouth. Maybe on more intimate areas.

After I’d wrangled a rope around the surprisingly docile animal’s neck, I’d stood next to my house, hidden in the shadows created by the sun, and watched Paynter methodically rake leaves. He’s probably the only person in this neighborhood who actually does that task himself, and I can’t help feeling a bit envious. Who the hell gets jealous over someone raking leaves?

It’s just he looks so ... comfortable. And hot. Literally, apparently, because after a while he takes off his shirt and provides me with a glorious view of those pecs and abs I’d licked and nibbled only a few nights ago. God, it feels like a lifetime. I swear, the man has turned me into an addict. He must have, because it’s only a few minutes after he’s stripped half naked before I’m charging across the lawn, ruining my Jimmy Choos and dragging the poor goat behind me, working myself into a lather so I can lash out at him instead of grab him and shove my tongue down his throat.

And somehow he’s taken ownership of the goat, even though he swears it isn’t his prank, and I can’t help but think how sweet it is that he’s willing to take in a stray, no questions asked. Not even a dog or cat, but a goat, for crying out loud. A barnyard animal. I’m pretty sure it’s against the homeowners’ association code for the thing to even be in our yards, and he’s undoubtedly going to get a nasty letter, since Jersey Housewife—who I swear is stalking him, since she always seems to be around when he’s not wearing a shirt—saw him carry the animal into his house.

Now we’ve named this animal together and he’s actually making plans to keep it. This can’t be good, not for his standing in the neighborhood nor for my heart, which keeps sighing and melting and swooning in my chest.

My head, on the other hand, is staunchly against this entire scene and keeps reminding me of that life plan I’ve been working on for so long I’m not sure I know any differently. Since I graduated top of my class from grad school, my focus has been on the next prize, reaching the pinnacle of my chosen profession. Even when I started dating Marcus, love and forever and all the crap that came along with relationships was always secondary.

And now Paynter’s in my life, he and that damn goat, and I can barely refrain from throwing myself at him.

Scratch barely, because when he places his hand on the small of my back and exerts the tiniest bit of pressure, I’m a goner. I shift forward and practically fall against him, so eager am I to touch his body, to relive the way he’d fit so damn perfectly against my own.

“You shouldn’t have waited so long to bring me something to pet,” he says with his lips next to my ear, and somehow it sounds so tantalizingly naughty. He nips at my earlobe and my entire body clenches like I’m about to have an orgasm.

“Friends,” I whisper, turning toward him, desperate to taste him.

“Let’s be more than friends.” He shoves his glasses onto his head and brushes his lips over mine, gently, coaxing, while his hand slides up my back to cup my neck.

“Benefits. Neighbors with benefits.”

He chuckles before crashing his mouth against mine, as if he, too, can’t wait a moment longer. I make a noise, something animalistic and not at all me, but then again, I’m not the person I’ve created in my mind right now. When I’m with Paynter, I’m me, the wanton woman I’ve suppressed for far, far too long. The one who likes to wear sweats and her hair in a sloppy ponytail and who prefers to go without makeup on the weekends. Who thinks Naked Saturdays should be a damn weekly requirement.

A woman whose career doesn’t rule her life.

“I need to keep you separate,” I say.

His tongue is in my mouth, licking, searing a path straight to my core, which is molten lava right now, ready to boil over and consume me, consume us both. He pauses to take a breath and I’m already missing the feel of his lips pressed against mine.

“Separate? As in magic tricks? Like you want to pretend to saw me in half? Sounds kinky. I’m in.”

I gurgle out a half-laugh while one of his hands twists in my hair, holding my head so he can plunder my mouth to my heart’s delight. The other roams south, flattening against my chest for a moment before drifting down to massage my breast through three layers of silk and satin. It’s too much—clothing, I mean. But I have to focus, as hard as it is. I need him to understand the parameters of our relationship. Or lack thereof.

“No, silly. You and my career. James—I can’t believe my boss is your brother.”

“Your brother?”

“No, your brother. Are you listening to me?”

“Uh-huh.” He’s kissing my neck, nips and licks that are setting me on fire, while one of his hands is wandering again. The left is still kneading my breast, but the right has gone to the hem of my skirt before it slides under, all the way to the edge of my panties. His fingers tease, toy with me, before he slips them under the elastic to cup my ass.

I need to get this out before I lose all sense of reality.

“The only way ... this is going to work is—oh, yes—if I keep you separate from my career. So-so you can’t tell James you know me, okay?”

He’s stroking me, his fingers rough against my sensitive skin, my body’s lubrication making his task all that much easier. I swear mere seconds have gone by and I’m already about to explode.

He’s panting, his hips moving against my leg, like he’s as lost in the moment as I am. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Just please get out of this suit, sooner than later.”

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