Sexy Bad Neighbor (Sexy Bad #1)

by Misti Murphy

  “You were pretty impressive too,” Chloe says. “Thank you for what you said, and making her back off.”

  “I meant it,” I say quietly. Then I clear my throat, because I want her to know that I don’t want to be friends only with her. “I told her the truth, and I won’t let anyone treat you like that. When you asked me earlier if we could keep this thing detached I shouldn’t have said yes. Telling you I can do that would be lying to you, because I don’t want this to be about sex only.”

  “Good sex.”

  “Great sex.” I grin. “But it’s more than that, for me. You’re important to me, and that means I’m going to defend you against people like Bernadette.”

  “She only reacted like that because she still has a thing for you. That must have been as clear to you as it was to me.”

  Is that what’s bothering her? Not the fact I made it evident we’re together but that she thinks there’s something between Bernadette and me? Standing up, I gather her into my arms. “She thinks I’m a toy, something she has ownership of, and some other woman is playing with it so she wants it back. There’s nothing there, sweetheart, not even good memories.”

  “But the chandelier. You held onto that awful, awful thing.” She shakes her head. “Why would you do that unless it was because she means something to you?”

  “For the same reason I told her. This house was about her, and when I moved in I didn’t know if I’d stay or sell. It wasn’t home, it was just some monstrous ode to how ridiculous people can be when they’re putting on airs. So I really didn’t give a fuck about some stupid, gaudy chandelier. Plus, it was a reminder not to get involved with women like her.”

  “Women like me?” Chloe murmurs to herself.

  “No, not you.” I grip her chin until she looks at me. “Do you really see yourself as someone like that? I know you have goals to accomplish and they’re important to you, but I don’t think they’re everything you want now, are they? Look at you, in my front yard, not caring if anyone sees you in your less-than-perfect attire, with a man you didn’t think was worth your time, and a goat you expect to ruin your standing in the neighborhood. Women like Bernadette would never be real like you are.” I press my forehead to hers and brush my lips across hers. “They certainly wouldn’t let me kiss them like this.”

  “I’m not sure why I’m letting you kiss me like this.”

  Covering my hand with her own, she opens under the pressure of my mouth. I lick into her, stroking my tongue along hers while I drop my hands to her ass and pick her up. With a whimper, she winds her legs around my hips, her fingers gripping my hair. A dog yaps excitedly somewhere behind us, but neither of us moves to break apart.

  “We’re supposed to be building a goat pen,” she says breathlessly as she kisses her way up my jaw.

  I tighten my hold on her and run one hand along her spine to squeeze her neck as I take long strides across the yard to the house. “Later.”

  “But Spot.” She moans as I capture her mouth.

  The kid bleats and bumps against my legs as it trots to keep up, the chain pulling her along with us. Chloe and I slam up against the front door, and I fight with the door handle until it swings open. Inside, I shove it closed with my foot and drop the chain.

  Chloe’s legs around my waist hold her up while I yank at her sweatshirt until it’s over her head. Sucking in her bottom lip, she works on mine. Her skin is hot on my own, her tits pressed to my chest as I smash our lips together. I stumble across the foyer and press her to the wall while I yank on the strap that keeps her bra in place so I can lick and suck at her tits. We stagger halfway up the stairs, crashing into the wall.

  “Paynt,” she pleads. “Need you now.”

  Dropping down on a step, I let her go so she can stand, and help her out of her yoga pants. Stretchy fabric might be my favorite given how easy it is to remove. Then I hook my fingers into her panties and rip them down. Using my shoulders to support her, she steps out of them and slides onto my lap, struggling with my belt. It clinks as she knocks it aside. The hard ridges of the stairs bite into my back as I lean into them and shift my hips to push my pants down to free my cock. There’s a condom in my pocket, and I pull it out and tear it open to sheath myself.

  Shifting forward, she grasps my erection as I clasp her face between my hands and kiss the fuck out of her. Then she’s sliding onto me, rolling her hips to take me deep. Staring into her eyes, I have to admit I’m pretty enamored with her. I thrust into her, ignoring the hard surface we’re on and the slight discomfort that comes with it as she shuts her eyes and throws her head back in abandon to the pleasure of our bodies moving together.

  Her movements speed up, her face is a mask of concentration.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart, I want to see you come.”

  Her lashes lift over blue eyes dazed with pleasure. Her lips part, and her hands knead my chest as I grip her hips, her movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated. “Yes. Paynt. Ooooh.”

  I get swept up in her, my own climax shooting through me as she collapses onto me, knocking my head back against the step. I wince from the sudden pain. Then I chuckle as I wind both arms around her and hold her close. Nothing picture-perfect could ever be this good.

  “The goat,” Chloe says a few short minutes later as she scrambles up. “Oh no, no, no. Where do you think she’ll have gotten to?”

  “Mmm hmm, what goat?” Oh, right. Spot. “Shit.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHLOE

  I suddenly can’t breathe. I gotta get out of here.

  Everything Paynter said about me was sweet, eloquent, sexy even—and wrong. The only reason I let him kiss me while we’re standing on his front lawn and I’m wearing my old college sweats is because I forget everything when I’m with him. It doesn’t mean I don’t still care about my image; it means I’ve had a momentary lapse in judgment that I’ll regret as soon as I come down from the high he’s taken me on.

  I care about what other people think about me, about my clothing, about my actions. I care what the HOA thinks, although, truthfully, I do hate that we live in a place where he thinks he can’t keep Spot. Okay, sure, the thing eats practically everything and won’t stay off the dining room table, but she’s so endearing. The idea of giving her up hurts my heart, although not as much as the idea of giving up Paynt.

  Still.

  He’s wrong. I think.

  I grab my clothes as I go, pulling on my sweatshirt as I stumble into the living room and see Spot munching on the afghan draped over the back of the couch. Man, she loves that thing. Hopefully, it isn’t valuable, because an entire section is now in the goat’s stomach.

  When Paynt wanders into the room without a shirt and with his jeans tugged up over his hips but left unsnapped, I avert my gaze and blurt, “I have to go. I forgot my parents are expecting me for dinner.”

  “Okay.”

  “I need to stop—pick up something—I told them I’d bring dessert. And there’s no time to make strawgasms. Which I’m not sure I really want to introduce my parents to, anyway.” He isn’t questioning me, doesn’t look like he’s suspicious of the plans I’ve supposedly suddenly remembered, yet I can’t stop talking. “And wine. They like Merlot. Even with steak. But I think Mom’s making lasagna actually.”

  Now his brows draw together, and I know it isn’t my excuse so much as my inability to shut up that makes him curious. I give him a quick smack on the lips and then rush for the door. “Football is on tonight, and if I don’t get there early enough, we can’t drag Dad away from the TV to eat dinner with us.”

  Then I’m gone, across the front lawn and secured inside the sanctuary of my own home, where I bang my head against the wall for a moment because crap, now I have to go visit my parents.

  And damn it, Paynter is wrong.

  ***

  On Sunday, I hide in my house and watch through the bay window in the dining room while Paynt and Garrett build a pen for Spot. They’re digging holes in the yard
and pouring cement and everything. Sure seems permanent, given his claim to either find the goat’s original home or give it to his mom. But that’s Paynt, isn’t it? He makes a plan, he sticks with it, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Even the homeowners’ association, which, if Bernadette has her way, will rewrite the rules to make it clear he can’t keep the hapless kid.

  I wish I were like that. Just make a decision and barrel ahead, everyone around me be damned. Or maybe I did, with this obsessive need of mine to be the perfect image of the perfect corporate woman, striving to reach the top of the ladder, preferably shattering a few glass ceilings along the way.

  My problem is—okay, one of my problems is—that I actually love my job. I like that euphoric feeling when I close a deal; the sense of satisfaction when a client sends a follow up thank-you letter after I’ve convinced them to sign away millions of dollars for a piece of real estate.

  And I like wearing pencil skirts and spiked heels. I like the way they make me feel; powerful, confident, and sexy at the same time. Guys have tailored suits, I have Gucci. And Miu Miu. And maybe, someday, Louis Vuitton.

  But secretly, I like my pajamas bottoms and ratty old sweatshirt, too. I like not wearing makeup and dragging my hair into a ponytail and then forgetting about it. I like not spending a whole lot of time worrying about what everyone else thinks about me.

  Hello, oxymoron.

  To make this whole self-revelation bullshit even worse, Paynter actually likes me—that side of me that isn’t putting on a show for everyone else. And he’s making me question who I am, which part of me I really want to be.

  Goddamn it, I’m almost there—almost to the top. Again. And once again a man is getting in the way. But this time, it isn’t on purpose. Hell, Paynter doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to me. He has no clue he’s making me question everything about myself, making me wonder if I want to be the person I’ve convinced myself everyone expects me to be. Is it possible to still continue my climb and yet allow my natural self to show?

  Do I even remember how to be natural, be myself, around other people?

  I do when I’m with Paynter, but I don’t want to put him on that pedestal, to create that expectation. I don’t want to convince myself I can only be me when I’m with him. Hell, I haven’t even accepted the idea of actually being with him yet.

  Although it’s more tempting by the minute. I want to go over there right now, to hang out and chat while they dig holes and put up fencing. Maybe even help set up Spot’s new home. And later I want Paynt and I to head to the shower, together. I want to get dirty and clean all at the same time. And then I want to spend the night with him, to wake up in his arms, to brush our teeth while we stand side by side at the double sinks in his bathroom. Or maybe mine. His house is bigger, but truthfully, mine’s warmer, and all my stuff is here. He only has to get up and wander down the hall to his home office, whereas I have to look presentable for my co-workers and clients.

  And for myself. Really, just for myself.

  A dark-haired little girl darts into view, running on stubby legs, holding what looks like a dog leash, with Spot trotting along next to her. Paynt says something to her and points at the lake, probably a warning to stay away from the water, and I have a sudden vision so real, it steals my breath away.

  Paynt. Me. A little girl. And her pet goat. All one, big family. We’re content, and I’m wearing yoga pants, and I’m not standing at the top of that corporate ladder, arms on hips, looking down on everyone else.

  And I’m happy.

  Even after Garrett and the little girl, whom I presume is his, leave, I don’t go over to Paynter’s house and he doesn’t come knocking on my door, either. I don’t know why he doesn’t, but screw analysing it, because truthfully, I’m relieved. I’ve had this little epiphany, but I haven’t yet processed all I’ve discovered about myself, all I need to do to try to become myself again.

  ***

  Monday morning, I head into the office, wearing my favorite boots, which are brand-name knock-offs I impulsively bought from Target and usually wear only when I’m with my family or going someplace where I’m certain no one will know me and judge me based on my footwear.

  It’s my first attempt at being me, a person who wears footwear because she likes it or it’s functional and not because the shoe speaks of her financial status. It is arguably one of my most difficult fashion decisions since I’ve started dressing myself.

  My office is located in a glass-encased high-rise owned by my boss, who happens to be Paynter’s brother. I’ve momentarily forgotten this fact while I mull over my decision to attempt to make choices based on my own wants and desires and not what I think others expect of me.

  James was out of town for most of last week, and Friday he worked from home, so I managed to avoid looking him in the eye, knowing I banged his brother on the couch in the basement, on the kitchen counter, in his bed.

  Today, I won’t be so lucky, based on the sticky note I find attached to the door of my office when I return from the restroom. It’s mid-morning, and I’ve been working my way through my emails, trying to clear my inbox, because my afternoon is full of back-to-back meetings. With a sigh, I head down the hall to the corner office.

  “Love those boots, Chloe,” his admin says as I show her the note before proceeding into James’s domain.

  “Hey, Chloe, lookin’ good,” he greets me. “Those boots are great.”

  “Seriously? When’s the last time you complimented my footwear? The shoes I wore yesterday cost half a week’s salary.”

  “You spent too damn much on them, then.”

  Leave it to a man who wears Rolex and Armani like he was born to model their goods to point out that sometimes, the price tag doesn’t make the shoe. Or person.

  “So, change of subject in order. Was the trip successful?”

  His brow scrunches and he abruptly shoves out of his chair and stalks over to where a coffee station is set up on a shelf built into the bookcase. “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  He’s agitated. I immediately fear Paynter has told him about us but no, I don’t see him as a guy who breaks promises that are clearly important to the other person.

  James pours coffee, adding flavored creamer to mine without asking because he already knows, and offers me the matte black mug with the red logo that matches the one on the building we are currently standing in. I take a sip and make my way to one of the chairs facing his desk while he pours coffee for himself and adds the barest dollop of cream.

  “How successful it was remains to be seen,” he says as he sits behind his desk and places his mug on a ceramic coaster. “Myra told me your calendar is clear until one. I need you to sit in on a meeting for me.”

  “Sure. When?”

  He glances at his watch, thick and heavy and solid gold with a cut crystal face. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess you’d better fill me in.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Some guy from our biggest competitor is downstairs, sniffing around, probably trying to figure out how to steal our clients. Usually they aren’t so ballsy as to actually show up and demand a meeting.”

  He pauses and I wait, knowing he’ll give me more information, won’t send me into a meeting blind.

  “I’m double-booked. I could easily reschedule my other meeting, but truthfully, I think it’ll be more fun if you take this one. Shut the guy down. Hell, make him cry if you want to. Remind him that no one can touch our status as the number one corporate real estate acquisitions and management company in the Midwest.”

  Hell, make him cry if you want to.

  This is the person I’ve created. The reason James hired me, and the reason I’m likely to make partner before I’ve been with the company a year.

  But I’m not that person, not when I’m with Paynter. He would laugh if James said something like that in front of him and then he’d say, “Chloe isn’t like that. I wouldn’t be sleeping with her if
she was.”

  Oh God, will I have to choose after all? If I let this thing between Paynter and I grow, see where it goes, will I eventually be forced to become my college professor, the one who told us her story of climbing almost to the top, only to give it all up to teach at university when she got pregnant with her third kid?

  “You okay, Chloe? You look a little pale.”

  Blinking rapidly, I clear my throat and give James a tight smile. “Fine. I’m fine.” No I’m not, but I can’t tell my boss that. I can’t say, I’m sleeping with your brother, he’s making me question everything about myself, and now I’m afraid I don’t even know who I am anymore.

  “So you’re good? Your teeth razor sharp and ready to go?”

  As if on cue, the phone on James’s desk beeps, and then Myra’s frostier than usual voice says, “The security guard in the lobby just called. Your ten-thirty is here, boss.”

  I glance at James, arching my brow in silent question. He shifts the knot on his tie while his cheeks turn a mottled red, which surprises me because James is rarely ruffled. And then he clears his throat.

  “Thank you, Myra. Tell Phil to escort him to the main boardroom. Chloe is taking this meeting for me, but don’t tell him that.”

  “Of course. You can trust me.” The phone beeps, indicating Myra has dropped the line.

  “Er, everything okay with Myra?” I ask.

  “Fine,” he says, standing and pacing back to the coffee pot. “She’ll be fine. She’s just irritated about a decision I made while out of town. Thinks I made a poor one.”

  I chuckle. “Sounds like you need to start taking your admin with you when you travel.”

  His coffee must go down the wrong pipe, because he bursts into a coughing fit that takes a long moment to recover from.

  “Right. Yes. Well, anyway. Thanks for taking this meeting.” He nods, the usual sternness back in his eye. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”