Page 22 of Open for Negotiation
The kiss is deep, sexy, and full. His tongue dances with mine for a moment, but as soon as it starts, it ends.
“Goodnight, Scarlett.”
“Goodnight, Max.”
Max
I’m on a high when I get back to my house. A high of the Scarlett Hale variety.
I can still smell her perfume and taste her lips. I can feel the way her skin felt under my hands even now.
I pull into the garage and kill the engine. The late hour is finally catching up with me. I’m getting way too damn old for this shit.
But it was so worth it.
I round the car toward the door that leads into the house and stop short when I see that it is ajar. Son of a bitch. I don’t think I left it open.
No. I wouldn’t have.
I yank my cell from my pocket and open up the security app, thumbing through the menu until I find the camera option.
I had security cameras placed in certain rooms of the house when I moved in. It’s a large house and at the time, it was just Miranda and I living here. I wanted to be safe.
Better safe than sorry.
I check my bedroom. Nothing.
Living room. Nothing.
But the kitchen, however, the results are very different.
I bust through the door with rage simmering under my skin and shout into the house.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Miranda?"
She’s making herself completely at home, shuffling through the drawers like she’s looking for something. She doesn’t even look up at me when she responds.
“Did you move the corkscrew? I’m in desperate need of a glass of wine and the pinot I brought with me is calling my name.”
“Miranda, it’s the middle of the night. You just broke into my home. You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you.” I keep my distance from her at first, but soon, I’m crossing the room and pushing the drawer closed that she just opened. “What are you doing here?”
She sighs heavily and finally looks up at me. Once upon a time, those deep, brown eyes were intoxicating to me. Her perfectly styled black hair was silk in my hands when I’d bury my fist in it... but now, all I see is hate and deception. The real Miranda. At least, the Miranda who is showing herself today.
“It’s not technically breaking in, baby. This is my house too. I know the code, and you were out very, very late.”
“This used to be your house, and thank you for reminding me to change the goddamn code. I didn’t think I’d need to. Apparently, I was wrong.” I completely ignore the last comment. This isn’t a conversation I want to have with her.
“Ah, ignoring the issue at hand, I see.” She slides around me and opens the drawer by my fridge, which is where the corkscrew resides. “Bingo!”
“You threw a fucking rock through my window not even two weeks ago, Miranda. Now you’ve broken into my kitchen. That is the issue at hand.” I yank the corkscrew from her hand and toss it to the counter. “Get. Out. Of. My. House. This can’t continue.” The last thing I want to do is yell at her, but my fuse is shrinking shorter and shorter.
“Jesus, what’s gotten into you? And as far as the rock is concerned, that wasn’t me.” She reaches up and runs her fingers against the scruff on my chin. “I like this. Does the girl you were out with like it too?”
Her touch makes me retreat a step backward. “Don’t.” I grab her by the arm and begin to walk her to the door, more forcefully than I’m proud to admit. “You broke into my home in the middle of the night. You no longer live here. You are trespassing. Get out.”
“Don’t you touch me like that.” She yanks her arm away, rubbing it like I’ve hurt her. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Her eyes turn downcast, a brand-new act beginning in her voice. “You never did. I just needed... you.”
“What are you talking about?” I pinch the bridge of my nose in aggravation.
