Page 17

Author: Kylie Scott

She nodded tightly and stared at the front doors, forehead scrunched up. He wanted to smooth the soft skin with his fingers. Comfort her. Only one thing, however, would make her feel better.

Shit. Damn. Fuck.

Nick placed a kiss on her neck. He took a deep breath and let her go straight to his head. Who knew when she’d let him get this close again.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll stop. Look at me, Roslyn.”

She hesitated, but he waited. This was, after all, a waiting game. One he intended to win.

Eventually she turned back to him with a wary look. “What?”

This time, when he kissed her, he did it slowly with his eyes wide open. Carefully he angled his head and lowered his lips to hers. He stopped once they were touching. She stared back at him, not moving an inch, face frowning but not turning away. Not rejecting him. Yet. Who knew why? It didn’t matter. He kissed her again and again, pressing his lips gently to hers and watching her all the while. It felt mildly religious or something. It felt important. He didn’t rub his dick against her. Not even a little, despite his balls aching like bloody murder. He wasn’t ruining this for anything.

She exhaled and her lips opened slightly. A tiny sigh escaped. Ideally he’d have her sighing in ecstasy, but this seemed closer to relief.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He kissed her again, just her bottom lip this time. Such a succulent bottom lip; he’d love to take a bite of her. The idea of biting had never occurred to him with other women, but Roslyn was special.

“I’m kissing you,” he said.

“Oh.” A frown flickered briefly across her face. At some stage she’d stopped scowling. Gradually her body relaxed beneath his. Hands no longer fought his hold. “I thought you were going to get off me.”

“Soon,” he agreed.

She gave him her curious face, her brows hunched in. “I’m not kissing you back.”

“Yeah.” He kissed her again. The side of her mouth, where top and bottom lip met. “I know.”

“Are you trying to prove another point?”

“No.” Lightly he brushed his lips over her cupid’s bow. “I’m just kissing you.”

“I don’t trust you.”


Restlessly her hips shifted against the bed, accidentally rubbing against him. His cock pulsed, jabbing at the top of his sweatpants, wanting out. Or, more accurately, wanting in. God help him. What a ridiculous situation. He choked back a laugh. Fact was, he could probably come just from kissing her. It would take longer. But it could be done.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I was laughing at myself.”

The woman tucked her chin in, drawing back from his wandering mouth. “Why?”

“You know, I’ve met two-year-olds who ask fewer questions than you.”

“You had kids?”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t have kids. Never been married, either.”

She digested this information with a slow nod. No smartass comment was made.

“We could get married,” he suggested with a smile.

“We are not getting married. Don’t be stupid.” Her scowl deepened. “Why were you laughing at yourself?”

“Well.” He sighed and leant in, brushed his nose against hers. “I was thinking I could come just from kissing you. Wanna give it a go?”

“No.” Her stomach rumbled loudly. “I’m hungry.”

“I heard.”

“Offering me your cock as a source of sustenance would be a bad idea.” The top corner of her upper lip rose to expose her teeth, like he needed the hint.

“Guess it would.” He grinned.

“Get off me, Nick.”

“In a minute.”


“Come on. Can’t you kiss me just once?”

She swallowed and studied the ceiling above him. “No.”

“Why not? One little kiss wouldn’t kill you.”


“Roslyn. Just one.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Her face screwed up tight, eyes thunderous. “Really, we’re back to this? And you say I’m immature.”

She was right. It was a waste of time. Who was he kidding?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right.”

She rolled her eyes.

“No problem,” she said, voice bored. “I’m almost getting used to you sexually harassing me. Now, get off.”

He shook his head and grinned some more with relish. This would be fun. “No, not for that …”


“Yum,” the asshole enthused, shoving another pikelet into his mouth. This one was loaded down with sugar and lemon juice, just how she liked them. Of course, he knew this because he’d been reading her diary, the abysmal shithead.

They were actually pretty good. The man could cook. But it would take a hell of a lot more than showing style with batter and toppings to make her smile.

Roslyn sat on the big lounge opposite him, concentrating on the stunning view out the front. Hectares of pristine bushland and beautiful mountains rising in the distance. An awesome view, much more calming than watching the asshole eat. Her fingers tightened around her lukewarm mug of coffee in one hand, her reading glasses in the other. Their return along with the rest of her handbag did little to abate her pissy mood.

“Ros, have some more.”

“I’m fine. Thanks.” She sat with her legs curled up beneath her and a hand discreetly covering the spot where her neck met her torso. Just above her collarbone.

“It’s not that bad,” the asshole said around a mouthful of food. His eyes lingered on her hand.

“Eat with your mouth shut, please.”

The asshole grinned. With his mouth shut. That smile was pure pig—shelve him in 636.4—animal husbandry, swine. She’d tell him she hated him, but what was the point?

Nick downed the last of his coffee and licked his lips. “I’ve never bitten anyone before. It was kinda fun.”

“I hate you.”

“I wish I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that.” He leant forward and got busy topping up another pikelet with honey. “Actually, I don’t. What would be the point? Money’s useless these days.”

She said nothing. She had nothing to say.

“So, what do you want to do today?” he asked.

“With you? Nothing. How are they doing at the school?”

“Fine,” he said.

“Did you talk to them?”

“No. Just snuck in and grabbed your stuff,” he said.

“Did you see any of them, up at the school?”

“Ros, I was trying to avoid them.”

“But you must have noticed if they were around. How were they going?”

“Same as usual,” he said, his eyes all over the task to hand. No way could the surface area of the pikelet handle that amount of honey. What a disaster waiting to happen. “They were arguing about who ate the last tin of canned chicken or something. You need to eat more. Go on, have another.”

He continued to stare at his well-laden pikelet. Honey dripped onto the side of his hand and he licked it up. Tongue lapping. Like a dog. Her belly did something odd. Because he revolted her. Not because there could be anything weirdly appealing about what he was doing with the sugary-sweet condiment coating his skin. The sure, strong swipes of his tongue were repugnant.

She shifted on the lounge, trying to get comfortable. No position worked. Her sex was still swollen and sensitive from earlier. Everything felt uncomfortable and in need of relief. Apart from a quick pee break, he didn’t seem to be interested in letting her out of his sight. Bastard. Five minutes of privacy was all it would take and he knew it.

She repositioned her arms so the overly obvious points of her nipples were concealed from prying eyes. Even her breasts felt heavy, awkward. Why was he still licking his damn hand?

“You’re staring,” he mumbled.

“I think you missed a spot.”

“I like sweet things.” He winked.

“Ooh, good one.”

He tipped his chin at her and the hand still sitting against her neck. “Why are you covering it up? I’m the only one here and I know all about it.”

Jerk. Though he did have a point. Just the same, Roslyn rather pointedly scratched the side of her neck with her middle finger.

“Nice.” He blew her a kiss over the top of his pikelet.

She crossed her arms over her chest, still aware of her boobs screaming look at me!, and sank down in the chair. Maybe the neck of her sweater would do some damage control, bite-wise. It looked like a Rottweiler had been at her. Nice red teeth marks imprinted in her neck, with a bruise blossoming beneath.

“I know about your perky nipples too,” he said, smiling lecherously. “I thought we could read some more of your diary later.”

Not likely. “Where is it?”

“Somewhere safe. I noticed you didn’t write as much after the plague hit.”

Gently, she massaged the tender spot on her neck, wishing she could erase it. It and him. “There wasn’t much to say. Life sucked.”

“There was a bit about that wanker bothering you.”

She studied the view, quietly squirming inside. “That’s none of your business. Do you have any concept of what a massive invasion of my privacy your reading my diary is?”

He puffed out his lips and blew hot air her way. “Yeah, I do. But if you were better at opening up and talking about yourself I wouldn’t have to, would I? So really, it’s all your own fault.”

How badly did she want to beat him with a stick? Instead she crossed her legs and swung her foot, making the chain jiggle and sing. Because she knew it bugged him, and scowling got old after four days. Four. Long. Days.

Shit. He really would give her wrinkles.

He flicked her ankle a brief, irritated glance, thin lips flattening. “Communication is what relationships are built on.”

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