June, Reimagined (68)
Why wouldn’t he just leave? She had given him every out. “I’m capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I’m not looking to be your nanny, Peanut. Though I will admit, I have wanted to spank you a few times.”
June gasped. Lennox seemed pleased with himself.
“Stop trying to control me,” she seethed.
“Like anyone could do that. You’re a bloody rainstorm.” Lennox set the eggs on the counter and a skillet on the stove.
June marched over to him. “Leave.”
Lennox leaned down, his face inches from hers. “No.” He straightened, then lit the burner.
June wanted to tear her hair out. Being in the same room with Lennox was delectable, euphoric, maybe the best feeling June had ever known. She physically ached with her craving for him. But over the past few weeks, she had detoxed from Lennox. Kind of. As best she could. He was with another woman. June had seen the ring box, heard the words come out of his mouth. And now Lennox wanted to waltz back into June’s life as if everything hadn’t already changed between them?
She grabbed a spoon and held it up to Lennox’s face like she might swat him. “Put the ingredients down, Lennox.”
“Are you threatening me? I’m twice your size.”
“Try me.” June raised onto her tiptoes, still short next to Lennox.
Lennox ignored the warning and reached for the eggs. June whacked his hand. “Damn it, Peanut! That hurt.”
“I warned you.”
Lennox relaxed against the counter and threw his hands up. He turned off the burner. “Fine. I won’t make you breakfast.”
June stepped back and gestured with the spoon toward the door. “Thank you. Now go.” A fistful of flour hit her shirt and exploded in a powdery cloud. She gaped at the mess on her chest.
“That was for my hand. If you’re going to spank me, Peanut, I prefer you swat at my arse,” Lennox said with a shit-eating grin.
June grabbed an egg from the carton and smashed it on his chest. Yolk and shell dripped down his T-shirt in a goopy mess. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Lennox shook his head. “After all that I’ve done for you tonight . . .”
“You should have left when I told you to.”
“Fine.” He held out his hand. “Truce?”
June paused. The word held deeper meaning, resonated beyond just this moment. A truce meant moving on, amicably releasing what had happened. She slid her hand into his, wanting to believe she could let go, but fearing she would never be rid of Lennox Gordon.
The heat of his touch was a delightful passing distraction, allowing just enough time for Lennox to pull June to his chest and whisper, “I had my fingers crossed behind my back.” Then he dumped a cup of cold water on June’s head.
She blinked as it fell into her eyes and onto her shoulders. “You’re such an arsehole!”
Lennox laughed harder than June had ever seen him laugh before. His whole demeanor changed from heavy to light and luminous. He was more intoxicating than ever. Damn him for that, June thought. And damn Isobel. Damn their happiness together. And damn June’s stupid heart for caring.
She bolted to the fridge, grabbed a container of ketchup, opened it, and aimed the bottle at Lennox.
His laughter stopped. “Now, take it easy, Peanut. Don’t go doing anything rash.”
June stalked him, her hands itching to squirt ketchup all over Lennox’s shirt. It was the least he deserved after how he had treated her, after calling their night together a goddamn mistake, after leaving for another woman and just moseying in tonight, all happy and effervescent, rubbing it in June’s face. She lifted the bottle and pointed it at his nose.
“Come on now, Peanut,” he pleaded. “Think of all I’ve done for you. I saved your life, for God’s sake. A few times. Do I really deserve this?”
The question gave June pause. Did he deserve her anger? He had made no promises and even warned her of his wicked ways. He was under no obligation to choose June. What future did they have, anyway? Her life was in America, and his in Scotland. And he had saved her, on more than one occasion.
Facts swirled in technicolor in her mind, illuminating the truth that Lennox wasn’t the bad guy. His only offense was not wanting her the way she wanted him. And that wasn’t a punishable crime, even if it did break June’s heart.
She lowered the bottle, defeated. Lennox knocked it from her hands, grabbed June, and spun her around, pinning her back to him.
“Damn it!” June wiggled, trying to break free. “For a second, I actually felt bad for you!”
“Now, I didn’t want to have to do this, Peanut, but it looks like I’m gonna have to force-feed you.” Lennox dragged June over to the fridge as she protested and squirmed in his arms. He opened the fridge and perused his options.
June could feel his breath on her neck, his cheek on her cheek as he held her. All felt divine. Outwardly, she protested, but inwardly, she swam in the familiarity of Lennox. She knew his body well, like a map she had studied over and over again: His wide shoulders that narrowed into his waist, his hips, and his strong, long legs. The lines and angles and muscles of his body. His hands that gripped her—the creases and tendons and calluses. She hated that she knew them so well. Hated that she was desperate for Lennox even now, even knowing he didn’t feel the same. How pathetic, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. She had told him to leave, but she was frantic for him to stay.