And adds inches to my hips and ass. As if they need help getting larger.
“Noelle, darlin’. Did you get more beautiful since I last saw you?” Kane and his damn flirting. It could easily go to a woman’s head. If he hadn’t just said the same thing to Momma K. a mere five minutes ago, that is.
“I’m not buying into whatever sweet talk you’re selling, Windham.” I wink at him playfully. This man has got to be one of my favorites. Because, really. What’s not to love about a sweet, handsome, and—clearly—flirtatious Texan who also happens to be a former Green Beret? I say absolutely nothing.
“Aw, now. That wounds me deep.” He lays a hand over his heart, giving an expression of mock pain. “A kiss might make it better,” he says suggestively.
Before I can form a snappy response, I hear, “Not gonna happen.”
Foster freaking Kavanaugh. I glare at him. “Speak for yourself.”
“Yeah, Fos. How could she not want to kiss this?” Kane waves his hand, gesturing to himself. “I’m hotter than a south Texas day in the heat of summer.”
Unable to withhold my laughter, it bubbles over. “Windham, you’re one of a kind, you know that?”
He scoffs with a grin. “Why, of course. God knew the world could only take so much of my awesomeness.”
My stupid phone has been lighting up with incoming text messages—thank goodness I had the foresight to put it on silent mode—and I feel the anxiety setting in, my muscles beginning to tense. Which pisses me off royally because that means he’s succeeding in getting to me again, in getting under my skin.
I had stupidly thought that maybe I’d get a day of reprieve. I mean, really. The asshole busted my window. And it was Sunday. Didn’t even the devil himself take a day of rest?
Clearly not.
Excusing myself from the usual pre-dinner chatting—or harassment amongst friends—I make my way to the restroom to try and compose myself. Okay, okay. To have a slight panic attack that my past is at it yet again.
Staring into the bathroom mirror, I take deep, calming breaths and tell myself that it’s just boredom; that’s the only reason he’s doing this. Bracing my hands on the vanity, I whisper softly to my reflection. “You can do this. Don’t let it get to you. You’re safe now.” Hearing the slight trembling in my own voice pisses me off. What the—
A knock on the bathroom door sounds, startling me from my failure of a pep talk. It’s probably Laney coming to check on me. Who knows how long I’ve been in here being a weirdo. Carefully pulling the door open, I’m startled to see none other than my boss on the other side, looking … worried?
In a flash the look is replaced by his usual cockiness. Leaning one arm against the door frame, his eyes hold mine.
“You having some issues, Davis? Because you’ve been in here for a while.” Out comes that trademark smirk of his. “Or are you hiding out, sexting your latest guy?” The last question has an edge to it that doesn’t sit well with me.
Crossing my arms across my chest, I set my narrowed gaze upon him. “Really, Kavanaugh?”
When he leans in closer without actually stepping into the bathroom, I can smell his trademark scent, all musky and manly, allowing my eyes to gloss over his face, over those lips that appear fuller than most men’s, his nose which I suspect had been broken at least once as it’s slightly crooked.
“Are you sexting someone?”
“And if I am?”
There’s a pause before he responds and his voice is lower, hushed. “I’d be curious to know what you’re saying.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Huh. Must’ve caught boss man on a very weak moment. Which means I’m going to go easy on him, right?
Wrong. So, so wrong.
Stepping closer, my index finger traces a line from his right shoulder, gradually taking its time, moving downward over his pectoral, down the center of his chest, and over his firm abdominals. As my finger moves, I feel the tightening of his muscles beneath his shirt, and I speak softly as I go.
“I was saying something like, what are you wearing? Because I’m wearing a snug black skirt, sleeveless red blouse and a matching bra. But my panties,” I lean in closer, bringing my lips to his ear, lowering my voice to a sultry pitch, “are the largest, comfiest, most ragged and holey pair of granny panties you’ve ever seen.”
And then I slip past him with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face. Because checkmate, Foster Kavanaugh. You’ve just been played.