Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(38)
Author: Mimi Strong

“You have many admirable qualities. You’re confident, and brave, and lots of things.”

“Keep going.” My irritation was subsiding.

“You’re the whole package,” he said. “You’re real, and you have more class than most girls, even if you do swear like a truck driver sometimes.”

I adjusted my position in the bed, squeezing my br**sts together to put them on display. “Plus don’t forget my peaches.”

“You’re good at changing the subject, too.”

“Kiss me,” I said. “Kiss me like my lips are on fire and you need to smother the flames.”

He grinned. “You look so cute right now, I want to get my phone and take a picture.”

“No time! Kiss me like I’m the judge of a kissing contest.”

He laughed, but still wouldn’t go for the kiss.

I meant to say something original, something funny, but I found myself using the lines from Dalton’s movie script—the lines I’d been so pissed that he’d used on me.

“Kiss me like I’m bad for you. Kiss me like I’m dangerous.”

His expression serious, Keith whispered, “You are truly a dangerous woman.” He leaned in and kissed me with an urgency that caused my pulse to race.

As we kissed, our hands found new places to hold on, and we rolled back and forth, trading top and bottom with every breath.

I knew using the movie lines was wrong, though I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t shake the feeling Keith and I were in some sort of war, and by manipulating him with words that weren’t my own, I had won this battle.

CHAPTER 14

Thursday morning, a gorgeous, raven-haired man tucked the blankets around me.

Groggily, I said, “Why are you putting me in a cocoon?”

“Keep sleeping.”

“What time is it?”

“Early. You sleep in and relax. I have to take care of some gardening business, but I’ll be back by dinner.”

“Take your pants off and come back to bed.”

He climbed on top of me and ground his h*ps against mine through the blankets, growling sexily. “Don’t tempt me, woman.”

I broke my legs free of the blankets and wrapped them around him.

“Just a quickie,” I panted.

He reached down under the covers with one hand and stroked between my legs.

“Oh, f**k,” I said, though it was more of a plea.

He nudged one finger, then two, inside me and stroked in and out. I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and whimpered for more.

“I really have to leave,” he whispered.

“Never leave.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. All day, I want you to think about me touching you.” He stroked in and out more firmly with his fingers, moving my whole body. “Just like this.”

“Oh, f**k.”

Then he pulled away and left me aching for more.

I heard him leave, and I reached down between my legs to rub myself the way he had, but it wasn’t the same, and I gave up in frustration.

After a few minutes of angrily devising ways to torture him, I realized I was sleepy, and had only slept for four hours. The ache in my pelvis was annoying, but sleep was a good consolation prize.

I rolled over and went back to my dream, where I was putting flower petals back onto flower stalks, because I was a mouse inside a video game. (It really made sense at the time, and I was so close to getting to the next level.)

When I did finally roll out of bed, it was nearly lunch time. Keith had left me a spare key for the apartment, a note saying he’d be back by four o’clock, plus a fifty-dollar bill for groceries.

I looked at the money and remembered the night I’d ordered pizza with grocery money my parents had left behind. That whole night was… a dark spot in my memory. How could I have been so stupid? I still felt like the same person, so I had to assume I was still capable of colossal idiocy.

I folded up his money and tucked the bill back under the corner of a coaster on the coffee table. I had to laugh that he thought I couldn’t pay for groceries, but I truly appreciated the gesture.

Leaving money was just such a Keith thing to do. The guy was the nurturing type. He knew how to grow plants, and he’d generously coached me my first day of modeling. Even the smiley face on his note made me feel loved.

I snapped a photo with my phone, just because the still life was cute: the note, the spare apartment key, and the bright red apple he’d set where I couldn’t miss the suggestion.

I looked out the window as I planned my day. The weather was exactly like the previous five days—perfectly nice.

I put on a casual sundress I’d brought with me. The dress had thicker straps that covered my bra straps, and my mother owned the same one, but hers was blue and mine was green. One time we went out in our matching dresses and a man asked if we were twins. My mother has told that story at least twenty times—that I know of.

I sent her a quick message to check in, then I left the apartment on my quest.

My main mission was to pick up ingredients for making dinner for me and Keith. I stopped by the coffee shop I’d been to before, and had my mocha and danish as I read the newspaper. As I sat there, a number of homeless guys came in and either used the washroom noisily, asked for a free coffee, stuffed their pockets with sugar packets from the mixing station, or all of the above.

I tried not to gawk at all of this like a small-town hick, but it was difficult not to.

We have a few people in Beaverdale who roam around with no fixed address, but it’s not from simple poverty, as it seemed to be with some people in the big city. Back home, there’s a woman everyone calls Sweet Caroline, and she uses felt pens to draw on her makeup, with big red circles on her cheeks. Some of the little kids think she’s a clown and smile and wave at her, which I think is part of the reason why she does it, but I’ll never know, because she doesn’t talk to anyone. She hums, smiles, and shoplifts, and most people around town turn a blind eye and call it charity.

After my leisurely breakfast, I found the nearest grocery store and picked up everything for Salad Niçoise. I’d been craving one ever since seeing it on the restaurant menu the day before. It’s similar to a Cobb Salad, but with tuna, green beans, and red-skinned baby potatoes, instead of chicken and whatnot.

I’d just gotten back to the apartment and set the groceries on the table when my phone started vibrating with messages. I kicked off my sandals and got ready for a conversation with Shayla, but it wasn’t her.