by Lauren Layne
“Thought you didn’t like me,” he says quietly to my dog…before he reaches out a big hand and rubs a knuckle under her little chin.
Dolly pants in ecstasy at his touch.
Can you blame her?
I’m suddenly very aware that Noah is close and smells ridiculously good. He doesn’t seem like the type to wear cologne, but he’s wearing something spicy and woodsy and manly.
He reaches out for another handful of popcorn, and I smile when I see him sneak a piece to Dolly.
Only Ranger also sees, letting out a betrayed bark before trying to climb across me to get at Noah, Dolly, and the popcorn. I push him back, mollifying him with a few more kernels of his own.
“He’s not supposed to be on the furniture,” Noah says.
I give Ranger another piece of popcorn. “Have you told him that?”
“Sure. But who’s he going to listen to, me or the pretty girl who feeds him popcorn?”
I glance over in surprise, noting that Dolly has curled up into a ball on his lap, looking adorably tiny on his large thighs, further dwarfed by the way his hand strokes her, his palm spanning most of her back.
And just like that, I’m jealous of my dog.
“You think I’m pretty?” I ask.
“Shut up,” he says, not looking at me.
I smile. “How was your night?”
“Not your business.”
Okay. So that’s a no on the peace treaty, then. I try to stifle my disappointment. I don’t know what I want from this guy, but it’s impressive the way he can take me from horny to irritable and back again in about five seconds.
“All right. Good talk, Noah,” I say, leaning forward and setting the popcorn on the coffee table.
He reaches out and grabs my wrist. “It’s not my job to talk to you, princess. You want someone to keep you company, call one of your groupies. You need someone to fix your sink, I’m your guy. You need someone to fix you, look elsewhere.”
I don’t reply as I jerk my arm free and pull my gray hoodie off the arm of the couch. I shrug it on over my tank top, not because I’m cold, but because I suddenly feel all kind of exposed, clearly an unwanted guest in his home.
I mean, I get it.
I barely know the guy, we don’t like each other much, and I’ve invaded his personal space.
Still, it stings a little.
And what does he mean, find someone else to “fix me”?
I don’t need fixing.
Or rather, if I do need fixing, I’m taking care of it by myself. I know what I need, and it’s not to be berated and snapped at by some guy who’s spending the prime of his life fixing the rotting steps of a deserted mansion.
And actually, speaking of that…
“You sure I’m the one who needs fixing?” I ask, reaching down and snatching up my dog, who looks like she doesn’t know quite how to feel about the change in situation.
He snorts. “Sorry. Not engaging.”
“Of course not,” I say. “Much easier to point out other people’s flaws.”
“Oh, so you are aware you have some?” he says sarcastically, looking up at me with a bored expression. “Half the time I’m surprised you’re not polishing your halo.”
I blink. “Yeah. Okay. I’m plenty aware of my flaws, thanks. But at least I can admit that I’m on the run from something.”
That was a guess, but the way his eyes shutter tells me I’m dead on. Noah Maxwell’s a perfectly competent caretaker and it’s not my business who Prescott Walcott chooses to hire to fix up the place, but that’s definitely not the full story on what this guy is doing here.
Noah’s mouth is hard and angry and I know I’ve got exactly zero chance of getting more information, but at least I’ve managed to even the score. If the man wants to growl at me and keep to himself, that’s fine, but he doesn’t get to belittle my very existence in the process.
He doesn’t answer to me, as he reminds me often, but it goes both ways. I’ve got better things to do than try to make nice with a guy who thinks he’s got me all figured out without having a single civil conversation with me.
I saunter out of his little man cave, head held high, and march back to the main house.
“Hey,” he calls after me.
I don’t turn around. I’m a pretty easygoing girl, but I have my limits when it comes to how long I’m content to stay put and let someone take swings at me.
“Hey,” he says again, his voice closer. “Princess.”
I still don’t turn around, though I do bend down to let a squirming Dolly out of my arms. She gives a happy yip and bounds back toward Noah, and I try not to feel betrayed.
“Would you wait,” he growls, right behind me.
Nope.
Firm fingers wrap around my elbow as he pulls me to a halt. “Jesus, Jenny.”
Jenny.
It’s the first time he’s said my name—usually he opts for “princess,” stopping just short of “you there”—and the sound of my name on his lips is delicious, even if it does come out all gruff and irritable.
I flick my eyes up to his, and he drops my arm immediately. “You shouldn’t be walking back alone,” he snaps.
I give him an incredulous look. “Seriously? Who’s going to get me, the fireflies? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’m walking you back,” he mutters.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The house is right there,” I say, pointing in the direction of the main house, which is less than a five-minute walk from where we‘re standing.
Although he does kind of have a point. I hadn’t realized how far away the caretaker’s house was when I’d ventured out. This property must be huge, which is…a little creepy, honestly.
Especially with all the night noises of Louisiana around me.
“Fine,” he says, bending down, picking up Dolly, and shoving her at me. “You want to walk alone, go crazy. But at least carry your damn dog before she becomes gator food.”
I snatch Dolly to my chest. “Alligators? You didn’t think to mention this earlier?”
“I should have,” he says quietly. “I forget you’re not from around here.”
To his credit, he sounds genuinely regretful.
“What are you doing?” I ask, because he’s not looking at me and instead is surveying the ground at our feet.
He bends down, picks up a large stick, and holds it out to me. “Carry this. One comes at you, swat hard at its nose and run.”
I stare at the stick. Then at him. “A stick? Are you kidding me with this? What about a gun?”
“Illegal. More relevant, a bullet’s not much good against a creature whose brain is the size of a nut. All you’re gonna get is a pissed-off gator.”
“Right, because I’m sure he’ll just love the bonk on the nose,” I say as I tentatively accept the stick. “That won’t piss him off at all.”
He shrugs. “You’ll be fine. But Ms. Parton would be easy prey, so keep her close.”
I cradle my little dog closer even as she squirms, as though preferring to be held by Noah. Too bad, baby. Noah doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want either of us.
“You good?” he asks.
I force myself to nod as my fingers adjust on the stick.
I am an independent woman. I can walk five minutes alone.
“Noah,” I call after him as he starts to walk away.
He turns, hands shoved in his pockets as he watches and waits.
So he’s not going to make it easy for me. Fine.
“Will you walk me back?”
He doesn’t move.
“Please,” I add.
He still doesn’t move, and I’m just starting to contemplate poking him in the nose with the stick when he slowly walks back toward me.
Noah doesn’t say a word as he reaches out to pull the stick from my hand. Our fingers brush, just barely, and my breath hitches, because apparently I turn into a complete floozy just by sharing the same oxygen with him. Awesome.
“Nah, though he thinks they will, which is why he stays in the house at night.”
I sigh in relief. “That big dumb dog is growing on me.”
“That makes one of us then, huh?”
“Well, despite him having the bigger teeth, I’m pretty sure you have the bigger bite.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, princess?”
From anyone else, the words might have come across as a light jest, but said in his low, silky tone, they feel almost like a threat.
Or a promise.
“Did you have fun on your night out?” I ask, hoping to defuse some of the sexual tension.
I expect him to snap at me again like he did the last time I asked, but to my surprise, he responds.
“I did.”
Okay, I’m wrong about the sexual tension. Because his confirmation does nothing to reassure me that his fun didn’t involve a female companion, and I feel oddly on edge.
I do manage to keep from pressing for details, though, so that’s something.
“Any temptation to Google yourself?” he surprises me by asking.
“Nope. I know what’s true about me,” I say, dipping my chin to kiss Dolly. “That’s all that matters.”
Noah glances up at the night sky before glancing at me. “I call bullshit.”
I skid to a halt even though we’re nearly to the house. “Meaning?”
He stops with me and faces me, tossing that damn stick from hand to hand. “Meaning that if you were easily able to let public opinion roll off you, you wouldn’t be here hiding out. You’d be flaunting your fling with the pretty boy.”
“Deep thoughts from someone whose best friend is their dog,” I snap as I resume walking the last few feet toward the house.
“I’m right, though,” he calls. “Ignoring what people are talking about is one thing. Avoiding it is something altogether different.”
I’m on the front porch now, and Dolly is squirming, so I open the door and set her inside before turning back to the jerk lurking in the shadows.
“And what about you, Noah?” I say, coming slowly back down the steps and walking toward him. “Which are you doing? Avoiding or ignoring?”
He doesn’t respond, but then, I didn’t really expect him to.
“It’s bad form to pick at other people’s problems when you’re not ready to confront your own,” I say softly.
“Right now my biggest problem is the pampered diva living in my backyard.”
“Yeah?” I ask softly, crossing my arms and moving closer. “And what are you going to do about that?”
My voice is low and sultry, and I barely recognize it, but when he takes a step closer, I realize just how utterly out of my league I am, because when his lips drop to my mouth I go pretty quickly from aspiring seductress to utterly seduced.
“You’re playing with fire, little girl,” he says quietly. “I’m not one of your toys, and I’m not interested in what you’re offering.”
“I’m not offering anything,” I retort, even though his words sting. “I like my men more…refined.”
His grin calls my bluff. “You sure about that?”
I swallow. Lie. “Very.”
Noah steps closer. “So you haven’t been thinking about what I said earlier, about my tongue spending time in some more interesting places?”
I swallow but don’t say anything.
His eyes rake over me. “Playing dumb won’t change the fact that you’ll be thinking about me all night, princess. Your fingers will be a poor stand-in for my tongue, I can promise you that.”
“I’m trying to figure out which word better applies here, delusional or disgusting. I’m thinking it’s a tie.”
Noah bends down slightly, enough so that I can feel his warm breath on my mouth. “Enjoy your night, princess.”
He steps back then, turning and walking away without a backward glance.
I watch as he disappears into the murky, humid night before I turn and go back into the house, muttering quietly about cocky southern boys.
I drink two cold glasses of water, but it does nothing to ease the ache between my legs, and I’m uncomfortably aware of the rasp of my nipples against my bra.
“Damn him,” I mutter as I set the glass down with a sharp clink on the counter. Noah Maxwell’s wrong about most things, but he got one right: I’m definitely going to be thinking about him.
All night.
Noah
I only make it halfway back to the caretaker cottage, my feet propelled forward only by a constant chorus of don’t touch her, don’t touch her, don’t touch her on repeat in my horny-as-fuck brain.
I’d like to think that my mind is stronger than my body.
I’d be wrong.
Because while my brain has every intention of going to bed alone, at some point my cock overrides common sense, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve turned around.
Walking back toward the mansion.
Walking back toward Jenny Dawson and her tiny shorts and strappy tank top and long legs and that helpless want in her eyes that tells me she’s every bit as turned on by me as I am by her.
I‘m not sure she knows what she wants.
But I do. And I want it too.
The house is dark as I approach, slipping in the back door she doesn’t bother to lock. I pause for a moment in the pitch-black kitchen, trying to talk myself out of what I’m about to do.
I fail.
Instead I find myself standing in front of her door. It’s not closed all the way and I push it open, moving slowly in hopes of not freaking her out.
Jenny doesn’t freak out.
Whether it’s because of the noisy whir of her air-conditioning unit or because she’s lost in her own world, she doesn’t know I’m there.
I’m guessing it’s the latter.
Because Jenny is lying on her back, the sheets bunched down around her hips, her hand inside her little sleep shorts.
My cock goes from half-mast to full hard-on in half a second, because I’ve never seen anything half as hot as this blond princess touching herself while thinking of me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her dopey little dog giving me a curious look from a pink dog bed in the corner, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that the dog doesn’t sleep on Jenny’s bed, because in about five seconds there’s only going to be room for two of us.
She doesn’t register my presence until I’m standing beside her bed, and then she gasps in surprise as her eyes fly open.
She freezes, her entire body stiffening, the small circular motion of her hand halting. I’m glad. I want to be there when she goes over the edge.
It’s too dark to tell, but I’m guessing she’s blushing, probably embarrassed as hell at being caught, and I don’t give a shit.
I lower myself to the bed, and she doesn’t move as I stretch out beside her. I don’t touch her. Not at first. I prop my head on my hand, my eyes trailing over her curves until my gaze comes to rest on that naughty hand.
I drag my gaze back up to hers. “Are you wet right now, Jenny Dawson?”
She gasps a little at my words, jerking her hand all the way out of her shorts, even as her hips arch in protest.
“What are you doing here?” she whispers.
I ignore the idiotic question as I smooth my palm over her hip. “My question first, princess.”
She bites her lip, and it’s all I can do not to roll on top of her, rip off those tiny shorts, and bury myself inside her.
I lower my head, my lips trailing over her neck before I bite her softly. “Be a good girl now, Jenny. Tell me the truth. Are…” I slide my hand down the side of her hip. “…you…” My hand slides forward and down until I’m palming the smooth, silky skin of her inner thigh. “…wet?” My thumb slides up and I let it hover near her but not actually touching her, and she m
akes a keening noise of want.
I make a rough sound in the back of my throat. “Well then. I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”
My hand moves back up, fingers grazing the curve of her stomach before sliding under the silky fabric of her panties to the even silkier skin beneath.
“As I expected,” I whisper against her neck. “Soaking wet.”
She doesn’t reply, her eyes fluttering closed and her breathing quickening as I slowly stroke her, my fingers gliding easily against her wet flesh.
“Whose fingers do you like better, Jenny?”
She doesn’t respond, and I move my hand back slightly, denying her contact. “Jenny. Whose fingers?”
The greedy little wench arches her hips, but I resist, not giving her what she needs until she gives me the words I need.
Her body tells me she wants me, but I need to hear her say it.
“Come on,” I breathe against her throat, trailing soft kisses there. “You can do it.”
I suck on her neck, hard, and she cries out.
“Yours,” she gasps. “I like your fingers better.”
“That’s a good girl,” I say, my fingers resuming their exploration of her hot center.
I haven’t enjoyed fingering a girl this much since junior high, and I take my time figuring out what she likes. Two fingers circling her clit makes her pant, but those same two fingers deep inside her make her moan.
I alternate between the two, keeping her just on the edge but not letting her go over.
My mouth waters with the need to taste her, but when I start to pull my hand away to go down on her, she grabs my wrist, nails digging into my skin. “Noah. Please. I need—”
My name on her lips nearly destroys me, somehow far more intimate than her slickness all over my fingers, and I have a definite oh fuck moment as reality sets in.
I’m messing with a girl I have no business messing with, a girl whose every whimper sounds innocent as fuck, who, despite her current reputation, doesn’t seem the least bit skilled in seduction.
But an ugly thought has planted itself.
Other guys have done this.
And while I have absolutely zero issues with Jenny Dawson hooking up with whoever the hell she wants, the stab of possessive jealousy is bitter and foreign in my mouth.