"It's the 'or something'."
"You're not gonna tell me?" I said.
He turned his dark gaze on me, his eyes probing. "You not gonna tell me what happened tonight?"
I considered the decisions that had brought me here. Every one of them had seemed logical at the time. The bath, the chase with Chucky, the dash to the garbage-bin, the climb over the fence. But now, looking back, I felt like a world-class moron.
"Honestly?" I said. "It's pretty boring."
"Uh-huh," Lawton said, cradling me in his arms, as he got to his feet. "Boring. Got it. Now, c'mon, let's get you inside."
Soon, he was carrying me toward his house. His body felt warm and hard, and so very strong. Funny to think he was strong enough to beat someone to a bloody pulp – and strong enough to carry a stupid girl across his yard without breaking a sweat.
For the briefest moment, I almost forgot I was a dirty, damp mess. Eventually, in the light of his house, there'd be no shadows to disguise my appearance. But until then, I pressed into him, relishing the feel of his skin against mine, and his muscles moving with each step he took across the quiet yard.
For that brief moment, I didn't care that I'd just gotten fired, or quit, or whatever. And I didn't care that I had no good plan for getting back inside the Parkers' house. And I didn't care that I'd apparently just gotten fifty people kicked out of some party that I hadn't even been invited to.
I didn't care about any of it, and for once, it felt absolutely terrific.
Chapter 23
Crossing the back lawn, I closed my eyes and snuggled into his warmth as he carried us forward at a sure, steady pace. If the cold bothered him, he gave no sign. For one heavenly minute, I savored his steady embrace. Finally, I said the thing that needed saying. "You know, Icanwalk."
"So?" he said.
I opened my eyes to study him in profile. "So you don't have to carry me."
"Yes, I do." He kept right on moving. "You're not wearing shoes."
"Hey, I got this far, didn't I?" I said.
"Uh-huh."
"Seriously, you can put me down."
He gave a low laugh. "Uh. No."
By now, we'd made it to his back patio, a brick and stone annex with an outdoor fireplace, covered hot tub, massive grill, and stylish patio furniture in some sort of striped pattern. From this vantage point, his place looked more like a world-class resort than anybody's house.
With sure steps, he carried me across the brick surface, and nudged us through a back door. Soon, we were travelling down a short hallway and into a spacious great room. It had oak floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the patio, and a large, stone fireplace that took up most of the far wall.
Looking around, I saw no sign of a party. No discarded drink glasses. No trays of hors d'oeuvres. No bowls of chips or pretzels. Definitely no Brittney. I blew out a sigh of relief.
Crossing the room, he made his way to a white sofa and started to set me down.
"Wait," I said, clinging to him.
"What?"
"I don’t want to get your couch dirty."
He laughed. "Forget the couch."
"I can't." Even to my untrained eye, it looked terribly expensive. "What if I ruin it?"
With a wry laugh, he turned us around so his backside faced the sofa in question. "Hold on," he said.
"For what?"
