Page 88 of Imperfect Arrangement
Raymond looks at me blatantly, not even trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring at my ass.
“What?” I snap, straightening fully and shutting the fridge.
He shrugs, his lips quirking into a lazy smile. “Nothing. Just enjoying the view.”
My jaw drops. “What the hell, Teager?”
Before I can process…this version of him, he closes the gap between us and stops right where the tips of his sneakers brush against my flip-flops. His hand lifts, and I brace myself, but all he does is tuck a strand of my damp hair behind my ear.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
“What do you think I’m doing?” His confidence is infuriating. He doesn’t even glance at the open kitchen door, or seem to consider the possibility that someone might walk in, or care about our agreement of this…being a one-night thing.
“Raymond,” I breathe, shutting my eyes because looking at him feels dangerous, like playing with fire and not caring about the burn. “Wetalkedlast night.”
“I remember,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing against my ear, the cedarwood-and-lavender scent of his cologne invading every thought.
“And you agreed,” I whisper, gripping the counter behind me.
“No. I listened.” His voice is maddeningly slow, each syllable a tease.
What. The. Hell?
“You smell like pool water.” His face dips closer, his nose barely skimming the side of my neck. The faintest trace of contact, and I’m a trembling mess.
“I…” I start, but my throat feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Words scrape against my tongue. “I…don’t do serious, Raymond,” I whisper, clinging to the one truth I can control.
“So you’ve said,” he replies, his tone light, like I just told him my favorite color instead of firmly restating my boundaries.
Before I can fall deeper into his orbit, I push him back, stepping out of his reach. “And you think I’m bluffing.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, his smile sincere and maddening. “I don’t think you’re bluffing at all. I think you’re one hundred percent serious.”
“I am,” I bite out, forcing strength into words that feel like lies. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, not me, not you, and especially not Quill.”
“And you’resurethat’s what’s going to happen?” His expression softens just enough to make my resolve wobble.
Before he can press further, I deflect with the first thing that pops into my head. “Did you stop at a strip joint before coming home?”
His laugh is low and sinful, curling around me like smoke. “Oh, baby, if you think this is how men act after a strip joint, I think you need to reconsider your source.”
My nose wrinkles at the thought. “If my man ever goes to a strip joint, he might as well not come home at all.”
Raymond pretends to jot something down in an imaginary notebook. “Noted: no strip joints for me.”
“Raymond!”
“Wills.” The nickname rolls off his tongue so casually, I blink. He chuckles. “So I can kiss you senseless and make you come so hard you see stars, but calling you by your nickname is crossing the line?”
My jaw drops so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t hit the floor. “Y-you…” I stammer, completely at a loss, and because winning an argument with this man today is impossible, I do the only thing I can—I change the subject. “What happened with Gio?” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m anything but.
Raymond’s expression doesn’t immediately change. “He’s not going to be a problem anymore.”
My stomach tightens. “What does that mean?”
“It means he’s not in Cherrywood anymore and back home.”
“And he’s no longer interested in the land?” I press, even though the sinking feeling in my chest is already trying to warn me.
