with an ebony-flocked overlay and trumpet skirt, “they’ll also find my DNA linking me to the crime.”
“We’re borrowing not stealing,” Libby huffed. “They won’t look for DNA.”
“It only takes a hair, Lib.” She held up a solitary finger, flipping Libby’s smirking reflection the bird. “One hair can send me up the river for eternity.”
Libby swatted her. “I told you to stop watching those old Perry Mason reruns.”
Last night, Payton had watched a marathon of decades-gone-by shows while an exhausted Noah snored like a leaf blower. Her mind unable to follow the simplest plots, considering it stayed tuned to her internal station featuring the incomparable Avery Easton. Avery had insisted she be ready for everything, then tried to keep her from her tutoring job by taking her to dinner and proving his words. She wasn’t in a position to skip work, needed the income, so she’d refused his invitation. He’d promised to call her today, and although she’d worked a busy day tiling the small reflection pool out back, technically on Easton property, she’d watched the time as if she had a pie in the oven. One minute ticked by the same as an hour, and since it was nearing dinnertime, she was going stir crazy. Half of her knew better than to get involved with a powerful man such as him, one who could demand any woman with a simple nod of his head. Her other half called her every name in the book, insisting she go after Avery Easton in a full-frontal attack, baring her teeth at any woman who dared stand in her way.
Then, there was Dylan.
Not that the second Mr. Easton was in her life one iota. But the dreams she’d had of him, so far, had brought her out of a sound sleep, clutching her blanket with one hand and stroking her pulsating core with the other. Frustratingly, not once had she experienced climax. Considering how he’d treated her, kissing her after he’d just placed his hands and lips on another woman, and then dismissing her as if she were a lowlife reporter from a sleazy celebrity rag, Payton shouldn’t be wasting her time headlining Dylan in her dreams. Unfortunately, she’d been unsuccessful in stopping two nights of subconscious fantasies: Dylan scraping his flaxen stubble over her tightened nipples, biting ever so lightly on the peaks before lowering his mouth down, down, down, where she’d never before felt a mouth. And she stood contemplating if tonight would be filled with a third dream or would she be given a break?
“All zipped up,” Libby said, beaming over Payton’s shoulder. “To offset the kohl around your eyes, I want to paint your lips red.”
“Not with red hair, Lib,” she argued, pushing Libby’s lip brush away and checking the clock on her nightstand. Her stomach gave a little nervous squeeze as she reached for her pot gloss. Payton dabbed nude glaze on her mouth, rubbing to the edges and pressing her lips together.
“Ah, Payton,” Noah exclaimed from the doorway, “you look like a wet.” He thought better of finishing that sentence, clearing his throat while dropping his eyes from her sultry-shined mouth. “What I meant to say was, you are gorgeous, as usual, but particularly so in that dress.” He had his guitar case in one hand, his car keys in the other. “I wish I could join you for dinner instead of playing this gig.”
Payton glanced at him quickly, threading glittery hoops through her ears. They didn’t suit the style of the dress, but the chandelier earrings Libby had insisted on were too heavy. “You guys are lucky to get an extra gig. Gotta take it, right?”
“Money talks,” he agreed.
An awkward silence fell, unnatural for their long-term friendship, and Payton hated it. Last night, when she had rolled in with pizza, Noah had rolled in from practice smelling mildly of beer and heavily of cheap perfume. Normally, he’d toss his shirt and find his way to the sofa, surfing the channels while propping his bare feet on the ottoman. Last
“We’re borrowing not stealing,” Libby huffed. “They won’t look for DNA.”
“It only takes a hair, Lib.” She held up a solitary finger, flipping Libby’s smirking reflection the bird. “One hair can send me up the river for eternity.”
Libby swatted her. “I told you to stop watching those old Perry Mason reruns.”
Last night, Payton had watched a marathon of decades-gone-by shows while an exhausted Noah snored like a leaf blower. Her mind unable to follow the simplest plots, considering it stayed tuned to her internal station featuring the incomparable Avery Easton. Avery had insisted she be ready for everything, then tried to keep her from her tutoring job by taking her to dinner and proving his words. She wasn’t in a position to skip work, needed the income, so she’d refused his invitation. He’d promised to call her today, and although she’d worked a busy day tiling the small reflection pool out back, technically on Easton property, she’d watched the time as if she had a pie in the oven. One minute ticked by the same as an hour, and since it was nearing dinnertime, she was going stir crazy. Half of her knew better than to get involved with a powerful man such as him, one who could demand any woman with a simple nod of his head. Her other half called her every name in the book, insisting she go after Avery Easton in a full-frontal attack, baring her teeth at any woman who dared stand in her way.
Then, there was Dylan.
Not that the second Mr. Easton was in her life one iota. But the dreams she’d had of him, so far, had brought her out of a sound sleep, clutching her blanket with one hand and stroking her pulsating core with the other. Frustratingly, not once had she experienced climax. Considering how he’d treated her, kissing her after he’d just placed his hands and lips on another woman, and then dismissing her as if she were a lowlife reporter from a sleazy celebrity rag, Payton shouldn’t be wasting her time headlining Dylan in her dreams. Unfortunately, she’d been unsuccessful in stopping two nights of subconscious fantasies: Dylan scraping his flaxen stubble over her tightened nipples, biting ever so lightly on the peaks before lowering his mouth down, down, down, where she’d never before felt a mouth. And she stood contemplating if tonight would be filled with a third dream or would she be given a break?
“All zipped up,” Libby said, beaming over Payton’s shoulder. “To offset the kohl around your eyes, I want to paint your lips red.”
“Not with red hair, Lib,” she argued, pushing Libby’s lip brush away and checking the clock on her nightstand. Her stomach gave a little nervous squeeze as she reached for her pot gloss. Payton dabbed nude glaze on her mouth, rubbing to the edges and pressing her lips together.
“Ah, Payton,” Noah exclaimed from the doorway, “you look like a wet.” He thought better of finishing that sentence, clearing his throat while dropping his eyes from her sultry-shined mouth. “What I meant to say was, you are gorgeous, as usual, but particularly so in that dress.” He had his guitar case in one hand, his car keys in the other. “I wish I could join you for dinner instead of playing this gig.”
Payton glanced at him quickly, threading glittery hoops through her ears. They didn’t suit the style of the dress, but the chandelier earrings Libby had insisted on were too heavy. “You guys are lucky to get an extra gig. Gotta take it, right?”
“Money talks,” he agreed.
An awkward silence fell, unnatural for their long-term friendship, and Payton hated it. Last night, when she had rolled in with pizza, Noah had rolled in from practice smelling mildly of beer and heavily of cheap perfume. Normally, he’d toss his shirt and find his way to the sofa, surfing the channels while propping his bare feet on the ottoman. Last
Similar Books
