One Bossy Offer (44)

Her tongue explores mine, and I meet her urgency, groaning into her mouth, filling her with the voice of my need because I can’t fill her with anything else.

Not fucking yet.

Soon.

Her leg skims farther up my calf and her fingers roam my hair, scratching sweetly at my scalp.

“It’s all—” Ace’s voice falls flat. “Finished.”

I look up from Jennifer without pulling away.

I hold on tighter.

Here he comes, ambling down the stairs. The expression on his face says everything.

He’s seen us. He’s shocked as hell.

I made him watch my tongue claiming her.

Jenn’s still flushed as she goes stock-still, frozen and unsure what to do next.

I’m about to take over and tell him to scram when she says, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He grabs his toolbox. “Hey, it’s late. I should get going.”

She sprints away from me, straightening her clothes, throwing a confused look back at me.

“Ace, wait. If you want to talk about the next steps for the inn—”

“Tomorrow, maybe. Sorry. I have an early job in the morning.” He damn near rips the door off as he runs out.

My heart bangs triumphantly until it hits me.

When did a gushing apology become an outright conquest?

What the fuck have I done?

I just pushed a woman who works for me against the wall and kissed her like tomorrow’s the apocalypse. Hell, the only reason it didn’t go further was because the flannel fuckboy barged in.

I did this with someone else in her house.

Even if she wasn’t an employee, it would have been insanely disrespectful.

This...this isn’t me.

This is my dick highjacking my senses and driving me off a cliff.

I’m sure it’s just a matter of time until she realizes how bad this is, possibly mere seconds.

“I should probably go too,” I tell her, the instant she looks back at me.

Her brows dart up. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. I’m glad we had this—talk, Miss Landers. I’ll update you soon about Seattle.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Shit!

“Miles—”

I bolt out the door without glancing back until I’ve thrown myself in my vehicle face-first.

When I look up again, she’s gone, just a wilted silhouette behind the blinds with two big dogs next to her.





9





No More Sugar (Jenn)





Oh my God.

Oh my God, what was that?

I haven’t heard from the prince of jackasses since he kissed me and ran, and that was three days ago.

Three of the most bewildering, soul-crushing days of my life, right up there with Gram’s funeral and that time I had to save Pippa from her own case of heartbreak with a freezer full of ice cream therapy.

I’m not so lucky. I can’t even work up the courage to crawl to the grocery store for a couple pints of banana-chocolate ambrosia.

I’m tired.

So drained with his games.

But I should’ve known the second I opened my door.

That’s the thing about vampires. They’ll only wreck carnage if you invite them in.

But the jerkwad was so sincere with that apology and his sob story about Gram. I sure didn’t mind when he ravished my lips until they were sore the next morning.

I hate that I can still taste him.

I definitely regret that it wasn’t Ace.

Don’t get me wrong. Ace isn’t Dracula meets Henry Cavill hot.

He doesn’t have the whole chaotic broken bad boy vibe. He’s less mysterious and less intriguing. He’s not rich and all powerful.

But he’s attractive.

He’s muscular and good-hearted and fine.

If Gram were here, I’m sure she’d be ecstatic if he were the man I shacked up with.

Sweet baby Jesus, I wanted to be attracted to him—I wanted him to drive a stake through the vampire’s heart—and I probably could have been if he was a halfway good kisser.

It didn’t even need to be toe-curling, hair-bending, panty-soaking hot like that shameless attack Miles Cromwell made on my body.

But I’ll never know now, will I?

Ace was a perfect gentleman. He made his move with flowers and it ended there.

All because Cromwell blindsided me just long enough to blow up my hilariously thin dating life.

Coffee comes bounding over, carrying his tug rope. I give in and play, almost toppling over, fighting him for it until my arms burn.

He loves it, of course, and so does Cream when she comes diving in to join us.

But I think I have some rage I need to work out, preferably without pulling the dogs’ teeth or breaking my tailbone if I hit the floor.

There must be healthier ways to deal with rich dickheads.

Plus, the pups are always game to go outside.

Seeing a break in the rain, I might as well kill two birds with one stone. I get up and grab their leashes.

My phone pings before I can leash up Cream.

I pat her nose.

“Stay, girl. We’ll leave in just a minute.”

Awesome. It’s a new email from Satan.

Miss Landers,

I roll my eyes. I’m still Miss Landers.