She gave his shoulders a light shove. “Arrogant.”
He chuckled. “You love it.”
Dammit, he was right. She did. “Look, thanks for getting me home, and yes, my brother knows about you. I also get that you were worried, but none of that gives you the right to issue orders and expect me to follow them like a good girl. That’s never going to happen.”
His gaze sharpened, that square jaw going hard. “I don’t love the thought of you in a room full of drunks. It’s not me ordering you about. It’s me taking care of what’s mine. End of story.”
His? Holy shit. Her heart picked up pace.
He curled his fingers around the side of her neck, thumb brushing just below her ear. “And yeah, I like that you told your brother about me…means you’ve been thinking about me, and not just when I call. So you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” Then he grinned, and it was hot as hell, all straight white teeth and sexy beard. “Gotta say, despite being shit-faced, you were entertaining as hell. Cute, too.”
Her face heated again. “Do not say another word.”
His smile got bigger. “Found out besides stripping, you get chatty when you’ve been drinking.”
She cringed. “What did I—” She cut herself off abruptly as more hazy flashes of memory broke through.
“You remember our chat in the car?” he said, smug as hell.
It all came back, and she covered her face with her hands. “Shoot me now.”
“Fuck no.” He pulled her hands down, holding them both in one of his, and slid a finger under her chin with the other. He tipped her head up so she was looking at him. “Not after you told me what you’ve been doing when you think of me.”
She groaned, and he chuckled darkly, the low sound making her shiver. “Well, at least I’ve finally worked out what the I in R.I.P. stands for…”
“Irresistible?” More goddamn smirking.
She rolled her eyes. “No. Irritating.”
He stared at her for a long time, until that wicked smile slowly disappeared and something else replaced it, something that made her suck in a shaky breath. “I don’t think you get it, Foxy. That you’ve been thinking about me, while you get yourself off? That’s hot as fuck. I’ve been hard ever since you told me. You’re killing me, you know that, right?”
“You’re lucky, then,” she mumbled, lifting her hand to her pounding head. He laughed suddenly, pulling her into him and kissing the top of her head. She scowled against his hard, warm chest, trying to ignore how much she liked being there. “I don’t see how any of this is funny.”
“You’re right. There’s nothing funny about blue balls. But if I don’t laugh, I’ll fucking weep.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
He gave her ass a squeeze. “No thanks to you.” He kissed her hair again. “I gotta go. I wanted to see you later, but I’m thinking you’re gonna need a day. Yeah?”
She nodded against his shirt. “Yeah.”
He leaned back and looked down at her. “You wanna do dinner tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He made a rough sound and stared at her with so much heat she was surprised he didn’t pick her up and carry her back to her bedroom. “Seven thirty?”
Her lips tipped up at the corners. She couldn’t help it. She was looking forward to it, looking forward to spending time with him. “Sounds good.”
His fingers slid into her hair, and he leaned in, brushing his lips over hers. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.” Then he let her go, and those long, powerful legs carried him out the door.
What was she getting herself into? He overwhelmed her, excited her, scared the crap out of her. There was more between them than just lust, she felt it, saw it in the way he looked at her, heard it in the things he said. The man was a force to be reckoned with. She had no hope of stopping the freight train that was Reid Parker.
And the funny thing was, despite the risks, she didn’t want to.
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Nine
Reid pulled back his damp hair, tying it in a knot at the base of his skull, and grabbed his black shirt from the closet.
It’s me taking care of what’s mine.
Mine.
He still couldn’t believe he’d said those words to her. But yesterday morning, standing in her kitchen, shit, it was as if someone else had taken control over his vocal cords. That one small sentence—it was not him. Those words should not be coming from a man like him, and went completely against the way he chose to live his life, the way he had been living his life for as long as he could remember.