The Burn List

by Jennifer Dawson

  Pretty pink toes peek from under the hem of her jeans. I frown. She walked over in bare feet. This behavior is highly unlike the Abby I’ve been living next door to all this time.

  I raise my gaze to meet hers. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great. Why?” A big grin slides over her pink lips. Full, lush lips I’ve never noticed before since they’re not normally all glossy like that.

  Stating the obvious, I point at her bare toes. “You don’t have any shoes on.”

  She looks down, shrugging. “I brought drinks.”

  “I can see that.” I say the words slowly, carefully. All my instincts kick into high gear as if I just heard the five-alarm bell. I’ve seen her in her backyard plenty of times on the weekends, and she sure as hell hadn’t been dressed like this, so why the change?

  A bad feeling washes over me.

  She giggles and crosses over the threshold, weaving as she makes her way into the foyer.

  Okay, she’s definitely drunk.

  What exactly is going on here?

  Out front, I’d noticed she’d seemed a little depressed. Maybe she wants someone to drown her sorrows with, and since she’d already started on those margaritas, I’m the closest person within walking distance.

  That must be it. Abby is nothing if not responsible. If I hadn’t been so distracted by her unexpected visit, I’d have thought better than to ask her in, but now I can’t be rude and turn her away.

  I’ll have to bide my time and get rid of her as gently as I can.

  I shut the door and trail after her. “It appears you’ve already started on those drinks, little girl.”

  Shit. My voice sounds husky, and lecherous, which I can’t have.

  She glances over her shoulder and smiles at me with those pink-glossed lips.

  To my alarm, my cock stirs, disconcerting me and throwing me off my game.

  “You may not have noticed, but I’m not a little girl.” She practically purrs the words, her tone nothing I associate with my nice little neighbor. She weaves her way to the couch, places the bottles on my apothecary coffee table that had been a present from my sister and plops down, like she plans to stay for a good long while.

  Which won’t do at all.

  I need to get her out of here, and that will only be harder if she makes herself at home.

  Like a hungry cat eyes a big, juicy steak, she narrows in on me, rubbing the seat cushion next to her in slow, rhythmic circles. “Aren’t you going to come sit down?”

  Great. I stifle a sigh. Drunk and horny. A combination most men enjoy, myself included, but this is Abby. Sweet, nice, quiet Abby. Even if she was my type I wouldn’t make a move on her. We’re neighbors. Reason enough to stay away, but she’s also a commitment girl, who probably likes all sorts of strings and attachments.

  All things I stay far away from.

  So if she has an itch, she’ll be getting it scratched by someone else.

  I’ll be nice, polite and keep my distance. Hopefully she won’t say anything she’ll be too embarrassed by in the morning. I try and look at the bright side. It’s good she came here versus going to a sleazy pick-up joint where some guy would be happy to take advantage of her. At the thought, I cringe. As soon as she sobers up, she’ll be thankful to leave my house unscathed, her virtue intact, and we can have a good laugh about this.

  It’s not often I play knight in shining armor, but I’m happy to for her sake.

  But, it’s important to keep my distance.

  Ignoring her blatant invitation, I take a seat on the chair across from her. Elbows on my knees, I narrow my gaze, ready to nip whatever crazy idea she has in the bud.

  She sticks out her bottom lip in a pout.

  A sudden, visceral image of sliding my cock between her lips fills my head. I scowl.

  For god’s sake, what’s wrong with me?

  Stick to the plan.

  Get her out of here.

  I rake a hand through my hair, shaking my head. Assuming my calmest expression, I ask, “What can I do for you, Abby?”

  She giggles like a sixteen-year-old. “Funny you should ask.”

  I arch a brow, hoping I look stern and unapproachable. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Enough to go after what I want.” She gives me a long, meaningful stare. “But not enough that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Gut tightening, I stifle a groan. Don’t ask. Keeping it all very proper, I say, “Sounds like too much to me.”

  She laughs a full, throaty rumble that shoots straight to my balls. “What are you, my dad?”

  Yes, get her focused on my being paternal. That should dissuade her. I lace my fingers between my splayed thighs. “Somebody needs to look out for you. And since I’m the one here, that makes it my job.”

  “And what makes you think that’s what I want?” A sinful smile curls over her lips. Jesus, how had I missed that mouth? “Maybe I have other jobs in mind for you.”

  Well, that didn’t work. I shift, trying another tactic. I give her my most friendly smile, the one I use to calm the elderly, before scooping the bottle of tequila from the table and putting it on the floor next to my chair. Out of her reach. “I think you’ve had enough to drink. Why don’t I get you home so you can sleep it off, Abby?”

  Brown eyes flicker, a tiny frown forms and her shoulders slump.

  God, I feel like an asshole, but really, I’m doing this for her own good.

  “You want me to go home?” She blinks, looking as sweet and innocent as a newborn foal. “But, I want to stay here…and do…stuff.”

  Ah hell. Now she’s being all vulnerable. This won’t work at all. The last thing I want is to reject the poor girl on her birthday, but I can’t take her up on her offer either. I sit back in my chair and contemplate options.

  Since paternal and friendly isn’t working, maybe I need to approach this from a different angle. Okay, she has sex on the brain and is intent on going through with whatever drunken plan she concocted. I’m positive she’ll regret her actions in the morning, so I want to minimize the aftermath as much as possible.

  If I don’t want to reject her, the only option I can think of that preserves her pride is to get her to reject me.

  The question is, how to go about it.

  I can’t be mean to her, so being a dick is out.

  I think through the things I know about her.

  She’s a good girl. She never brings guys home. With the way she acts and dresses, she’s definitely innocent. Everything about her is nice and sweet.

  Everything I’m not.

  She might want sex, but I’m positive she isn’t remotely prepared for the kind of sex I like. Girls like Abby never are. That leaves only one option.

  I’ll scare her straight. Problem solved. Damaged mitigated.

  Instead of dialing it down, I’ll crank it up to a hundred and she’ll run as fast as her bare feet will carry her. This I know how to do. I relax for the first time since she arrived.

  Scooping up my discarded beer, I meet her big brown eyes and give her my best come-on stare, raising the bottle to take a long drink. She manages to hold my gaze for fifteen seconds before her eyes slide away and her cheeks blush a pretty pink.

  I bite back the grin. Excellent. This is going to be a piece of cake. “And what kind of ‘stuff’ did you have in mind, Abby?”

  “Um…well…” She clears her throat and straightens in her seat, a determined expression creasing her brow. “The thing is, I’m thirty now…and well…I’m sure someday I’ll marry some nice man, but before I do, I want to experience something…different.”

  I decide to take control of the conversation and help her cut to the chase. The quicker I get this over with, the better. “So, you want to take a walk on the wild side?”

  “Yes.” Her fingers rise to her throat, tangling with the silver to twist her necklace.

  A sure sign of nerves and I do nothing to fill in the silence for her.

  I
’m feeling better already.

  She bites her bottom lip and uncertainty flashes over her face for a fraction of a second, only to be replaced by a stubborn tilt of the chin and shoulder-straightening resolve. “Yes, I have some fantasies…”

  What kind of fantasies? The thought pops into my head before I can help it.

  Not the point.

  My cock doesn’t get the message though, and presses uncomfortably against the zipper of my jeans. I sigh, and come face-to-face with the truth that some part of me is enticed by her. It has to be all that innocence. And her flushed, pretty face and killer body aren’t helping matters. She has no idea she’s more tempting than her bottle of tequila will ever be.

  I’ve always been a sucker for innocence, which is why I stay far away from women like Abby. My only excuse is I can’t remember the last time I’d been surprised.

  Which was why she needs to leave.

  Time to shock her before this goes any further and I start getting stupid. I nod. “You want to know what it feels like to get fucked properly, is that it?”

  Her eyes go wide as saucers and color rolls up her neck to splash over her cheeks. Damn, doesn’t she understand she telegraphs every thought and feeling she has like a neon sign?

  Her hand flutters on her necklace. “That’s one way to put it.”

  I take another drink of beer, hoping the few extra seconds will help me continue on with my plan. “And how exactly can I help you with this?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, and her cleavage almost falls out of her top.

  I grit my teeth. Inappropriately, I’m getting harder by the second. I shift, trying unsuccessfully to make my jeans more comfortable.

  “Well…you…” she clears her throat, “look like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Thank you, I do.”

  “In that case, I was wondering…” Spine snapping straight, she takes a huge gulp of air before saying on a rush, “I was wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind teaching me a few things.”

  Fuck. And there it is.

  The urge to get up, push her to the couch and make her come six ways ’til Sunday rushes across my skin.

  No. Wrong thought. Stick to the plan. It will work if I play it right.

  Although, I have to give her credit, she has more stamina than I thought. I’ll have to up the ante. While keeping my expression blank, I ask, “So you’ve chosen me to fulfill your sexual fantasies?”

  “God, this is embarrassing.” She shakes her head, laughing a little. “But yes.”

  Determined to push on, I show no mercy and increase her embarrassment. “What kind of fantasies are we talking about here?”

  She blinks as twin scarlet splotches of color stain her cheeks. “Um…well, I can’t say them out loud.”

  Surprised laughter bursts from my chest before I can stop it.

  She frowns, looking dejected.

  Shit. I don’t want to humiliate her. I hold up a hand. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that you’re so…” I search for the right words, “cute and sexy.”

  Her whole face lights up like the Fourth of July. “You think I’m sexy?”

  I can’t stand the way her voice fills with wonder, as though no one ever complimented her before. I answer with utter sincerity. “Yes, very.”

  “Thank you.” Her tone holds so much appreciation and gratitude I clench my hand into a fist.

  I should be thanking her, not the other way around.

  After we get through this strange turn of events, and I spend some time working her out of her mortification, I’ll sit her down and we’ll have a long talk about being more guarded. As alluring as it is, this kind of innocent sexual curiosity will land her in the wrong hands for sure. Especially if she starts going out in tight tops and jeans instead of her normal burlap sack. As her neighbor, I owe it to her to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble before she heads into the world. The thought of her, out there, all alone, some sleazy guy with his hands all over her, doesn’t sit well with me.

  I can get there first and it won’t be a problem.

  As quickly as I have the thought, I squash it like a bug. My job is to make sure she goes home, untouched. I have no right contemplating taking her up on her offer.

  All this hot eagerness is getting to me so I get back on plan. “What kind of fantasies?”

  “Um…” She waves her hand in the air. “Can’t you just take care of the details?”

  So, it’s like that, is it?

  Time to get hardcore. I put my drink down, sit forward and rest my elbows on my knees before tilting my head. “The thing is, Abby, how do you expect to fuck dirty if you can’t even talk it?”

  The words hang in the air.

  I wait for her to bolt.

  She doesn’t move a muscle.

  Instead she gets a thoughtful, faraway look on her face. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  To my horror, she stands, saunters over, working her hips in a seductive, albeit wobbly, sway. It shouldn’t be sexy. Shouldn’t make me hard. And it sure as hell shouldn’t give me thoughts about dragging her to the floor.

  The should nots of the situation don’t seem to matter because, god help me, I want her. And I need every ounce of restraint I possess not to act.

  She stops in front of me, smiles all lopsided and adorable. “You can see I need a teacher. And who better to ask than a trustworthy neighbor? I promise I’m a fast learner.”

  I just bet.

  This wasn’t working at all. Instead of scaring her away, she’s seducing me. I need to get back in control. I clear my throat. “You’d be better off starting with someone a little more low-key.”

  She leans down, catching my gaze. “I don’t want low-key, that’s why I came here.”

  My attention snags on her breasts, spilling out of her top. She’s not wearing a bra. I can almost taste her nipples.

  Goddamn emboldened drunk girls.

  I tear my gaze away.

  Get back on track.

  I give her an evil grin. “The thing is, Abby, I like things hard and rough, while you are sweet and soft.”

  “I’ve never had hard and rough.” She drops to her knees.

  Shit.

  She licks her lips and whispers, “I want it.”

  I need her gone. Immediately!

  I’m thirty seconds away from doing something really stupid.

  I think fast, my mind filling with all the filthy things I could do to her.

  I touch her cheek. A mistake. Her skin is soft, too soft. I wonder how it would look flushed from orgasms.

  Some semblance of sanity prevails and before I can kiss her, I come up with a compromise. “I’ll tell you what. You go home and think this through. Tomorrow, after the margaritas have worn off, if you still feel the same way, you let me know.” She’ll be happy tomorrow. That much I’m sure of. Doing the right thing doesn’t ease the ache of my hard-on, but at least it’s some consolation.

  “And then what?” she asks with breathless anticipation.

  Because this will never happen again, I give in, just a little. Just to feel the heat of her. So I can remember it later. In bed. Alone.

  I lean in close so our mouths are barely touching, and make her a promise I’ll never have to keep. “I’ll fuck you as hard and as rough as you can take it.”

  3

  Lukas

  After my workout and a shower, I sit down at my kitchen table with my first cup of coffee. My mind wanders to the Abby situation before I even raise the cup to my mouth as it has for most of the morning.

  The question is—what to do about it?

  So far, my best idea is to camp out on her doorstep around the time she gets home from work so she can’t avoid me. I’ll talk her out of any awkwardness and promise I hadn’t taken her seriously to ease her mind. Keeping it all very light and casual. This seems the best option. In my experience, letting a woman stew with embarrassment never leads anywhere good, so I’l
l force the issue. After, she might be uncomfortable for a bit, but as long as I’m cool about it, treat her as I always have, we’ll go back to being friendly neighbors.

  No harm, no foul.

  And eventually, after months of seeing her in mousy clothes, no makeup and pulled-back hair, I’ll forget what she looks like in those jeans and skimpy tank top. Forget those lush, pink lips and tumble of brown waves. I’m sure, after time, with proper discipline, I’ll once again see her as my sweet little neighbor.

  With time, last night will seem like a dream and I’ll stop wondering what it’d be like to experience that kind of innocence. Or how I could teach her about all that pent-up sexuality she’s been carrying around.

  I can’t believe she’s gotten to me. I shake my head, clearing it from the lingering lust. I’ll get over it. She isn’t an option. A girl like Abby deserves to be taken home to the family, and I don’t do involved.

  Don’t get me wrong I have nothing against commitment. Strings are great for some guys, just not me. I’m well aware it can work, and I don’t have any childhood trauma that makes me leery of women. In fact, I grew up in a great home with parents who’d adored each other, so I have a healthy respect for relationships. Only, I’d spent too many nights watching my mom worry and fret about my dad when he went off to work, and I can’t do that to a woman. It’s not fair.

  Unattached is best.

  Some other guy will get to explore Abby and all her curiosity, and I’ll stick to my endless parade of pretty, vapid party girls.

  Girls like Rachel, the to-die-for redhead I’d met last weekend and was supposed to see Friday night. She’s wild and loves sex. Any and all kinds of sex. Only now, I can’t quite work up the same level of enthusiasm I had about our plans. Post Abby’s surprise visit, those plans now seem boring and trite. Maybe I’ll give Rachel to Trevor, he loves redheads, and she’d made it clear she was interested in—what had she called it? I cringe remembering her words. “Having herself a fireman sandwich.”