Page 6 of After Party

Scott’s chest tightened again but not with lust this time. Peyton’s mom had dealt with mental illness and alcoholism all of Peyton’s life. And no, it didn’t seem that she was getting better. Or that she really wanted to get better.

“But cake and candy arenotdepressing,” Peyton added. “It’s the complete opposite of depressing. So I love working at the bakery.” She sighed deeply. “I’m going to take that cake decorating class.”

Scott swallowed. He wanted to hug her. The urge was as strong as any urge he’d felt toward her. And he’d felt many very strong urges toward Peyton.

“I think you’ll be great at that class,” he said, sneaking a peek at her.

Her eyes were still closed, but she smiled softly at his words. “You have to say that.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. You’re a nice guy. And that’s what a nice guy would say.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was a nice guy. But he wasn’t sure that was a compliment from Peyton. She definitely tended to go for the bad boys.

“I’m not always a nice guy,” he heard himself say.

“You’re right. When you get pissed at me, you’re not nice.” She paused and he opened his mouth but she wasn’t done. “You’re really hot then.”

Scott closed his mouth. She did this all the time—distracted him by coming on to him. It was better to just keep his mouth shut, he’d learned.

“Your whole big, bad cop thing is reallyhot. And that uniform…” She gave another sigh, but this one wasn’t a tired or sad sigh. This one sounded turned-on. “I love that uniform. And your handcuffs.”

Lust slammed through him this time. She’d said that about his uniform before, but it never failed to make him hard.

As was typical with Peyton, he’d been with her for about thirty minutes and he’d bounced through as many emotions as she had conversation topics.

“That’s what I really wish for,” she said. “Being handcuffed. On the hood of your car. Naked.”

Holy shit.

Okay, maybe the drive was over. It felt like his handcuffs were suddenly burning against his hip. He would never take advantage of her when she was drunk, but he was going to have a hell of a time getting those images out of his head now that she’d put them there.

“Hey, naughty leprechaun, maybe put that sweatshirton, huh?” he asked as he drove down a dark country road on the north side of town.

“Then I won’t have a pillow,” she said, not opening her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I might wreck the car if you don’t.”

She smiled, her eyes still shut. “Feel free to pull over and park somewhere.”

He almost didn’t blame all the people she got into trouble with. How could they help it? She was very hard to say no to. And she had a way of making a person think it would all be worth the consequences—whatever they were.

“So, you like this costume?” she asked.

When he looked up this time, her eyes were open and their gazes collided in the mirror.

“Love and hate it equally,” he admitted.

“You have some aches you need help with?” Her voice was huskier now. “I can play a leprechaun nurse.” She had a naturally husky voice that always seemed to stroke over his skin like a physical touch. And sometimes she dropped it lower on purpose, to mess with him. But now it seemed real.

He had a couple of aches, in fact. One right behind his pants’ zipper. And one in the neck.

He could not let her make him sayto hell with it all. He wasn’t saying that he would never take her to bed—and handcuff her pretty ass to his headboard for the weekend—but not now. Not…yet.

She rubbed her cheek against his sweatshirt and Scott found himself hoping that the shirt would pick up some of her scent as well.

“I think you’re the one who needs taken care of tonight, Trouble,” he said gruffly.

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