Promiscuous by Missy Johnson Page A

toward a tree. My heart pounded as she glared at me accusingly.
    “Sorry,” I muttered. I wanted to add that it was her fault for being so damn sexy.
    “How much did you have to drink?” she muttered, shaking her head.
    “Less than you, that’s for sure. Settle down, Princess, I’ll get you home in one piece.” I shook my head as she glared at me.
    I was becoming obsessed with finding out her secrets. How did this beautiful creature harbor so much pain? She hid it well, but for someone who had known her for a long time—at least, from a distance—it wasn’t hard to see.
    “Where’s your head?” I asked.
    She jumped at the sound of my voice and turned to me. “Right here,” she said, pointing upward. I rolled my eyes at her joke, but still cracked a smile. “I’m just tired.” She sighed softly and went back to staring blankly into the distance. Tired of what? I wanted to ask. But I didn’t. I was pushing her as it was. If I pushed much harder, she would shut right down on me.
    ***
    She walked ahead of me, allowing me to admire her ass. That damn dress drove me crazy. It was so fucking short it barely covered her ass. I so badly wanted to grab hold of her, and feel her up against me.
    There was no denying to myself why I was going inside. I could paint it however I wanted; it wouldn’t change the fact that, given the chance, I’d be fucking her senseless tonight. All I needed was a suggestion from her, a hint that she wanted it, and there would be no holding me back. That was how I did things, right? Act first and deal with the ramifications later? Why change my pattern now?
    Letting the door swing open, she stood back to let me through first. I smiled at her, then walked inside.
    She flicked the light switch, and the hallway lit up. The place was as nice as I remembered. It would have cost her a fortune. She was on the top of the hill in one of the most sought-after neighborhoods in Manhattan, overlooking the beach. Just the living area was about the size of my entire house—and my house was by no means small. The dark floorboards were perfectly polished, and the furniture looked as though it had never been used.
    She headed off toward the kitchen, and I followed her, my eyes back on her ass.
    “Drink?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. Fuck. I averted my eyes. Too late. She smirked at me.
    “A coffee would be good,” I mumbled, cursing to myself.
    The kitchen opened out to a large balcony that overlooked Mason’s Point. At this time of night, I could just make out the outline of the surrounding hills and the scattered lights in the distance. Sliding the door open, I walked outside, the mild breeze nice against my skin.
    “Here you go.”
    I turned to see Beth holding two mugs of coffee, steam lifting from each.
    “Thanks,” I said, taking one. I turned my attention back to the view. “It’s really beautiful out here. It must be a great place to unwind.”
    She moved closer to me, until we both stood against the glass wall of the balcony. “It is,” she admitted softly. “It’s great place to think. I used to always sit out here and write my songs.”
    “Not anymore?” I asked carefully. Every other time I’d tried to have her open up she had closed off so quickly.
    She shook her head and sighed. “I haven’t written anything in ages,” she said. God, I wished I could take away that fear in her voice. What had her so damn afraid? “It’s like my creativity stopped when—” She stopped abruptly, and wandered back over to the lounge chairs.
    “When what?” I pressed, sitting down beside her.
    She flushed. “Nothing.” I watched her as she set her mug down on the concrete floor. She sat on the lounge chair, knees bent, one leg on either side, her bare feet on the ground. I hadn’t even realized she’d taken off her shoes.
    Setting my own drink down, I stood up and sat down on her chair, facing her. Her eyes widened as she wondered what I was doing. She laughed as I reached