Page 81 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“If all this,” he gestured at my black outfit, “is just for me, then I don’t want it.”

“Then make up your damn mind!” The words exploded out of me, weeks of frustration and hurt finally finding their voice. “Because I can’t keep doing this dance with you, Rhett. I can’t keep trying to figure out what version of myself you want me to be on any given day.”

We were standing too close again, building up the same charged atmosphere that had gotten us into trouble before.

“I’ve had enough heat for one night,” he said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion. “The last thing I want to do is fight with you.”

The unexpected gentleness in his tone caught me off guard. All my angry words seemed to evaporate, leaving behind a different kind of tension that made my heart race.

“What do you want to do then?” I asked.

For a moment, he just looked at me. Really looked, like he was memorizing every detail of my face. Then he stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek.

“This,” he said simply, and kissed me.

It wasn’t like Miami.

Both of us were stone-cold sober.

His lips were warm and demanding, and when I didn’t pull away immediately, he deepened the kiss with a hunger that made my knees weak.

I should have stopped it. Should have pushed him away and maintained the boundaries I had only recently put in place. But God, he tasted so good and felt even better.

He backed me against the wall of the alley behind the venue. The brick was cool against my back with his body pressed against mine. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, finding that sensitive spot just below my ear that made me gasp.

“Clem,” he murmured against my neck. The way he said my name made something flutter deep in my stomach.

This was insane. Two hours ago I hated him with every fiber of my being. Now I was melting against him like butter on hot toast, letting him kiss me senseless in an alley where anyone could see us. Hopefully.

And I didn’t want to stop.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat that was pure want. I reached up and grabbed the back of his head, pulling his face closer to mine. All the fight and frustration of the past few weeks transformed into something different but equally consuming. His hard body pressed against mine. And God help me, I was arching off the wall and rubbing against him.

We kissed until I was dizzy.

“Stop,” I whispered against his mouth, even though stopping was the last thing I wanted to do. “Rhett, stop.”

He pulled back immediately, his hands still gentle on my face, searching my expression for signs that he had pushed too far. Both of us were breathing hard.

“This is a lot,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “I’m mad at you. Or I was. I’m not sure I can just flip a switch and go back to… whatever this is.”

I expected him to argue, to try to convince me that we could just pretend nothing had happened. Instead, he nodded slowly.

“I understand,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“It’s not that you shouldn’t have,” I interrupted, because that wasn’t entirely true. “It’s just… I need to process this. All of it.”

He stepped back, giving me space to breathe and think, but his eyes never left my face. “Okay. Hold up a second. I’ll walk you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t walk alone.”

When we reached my door there was an awkward moment. It almost felt like the end of a date. Should I invite him in or not? I knew what I wanted but thank heavens my brain still seemed to be functioning. Logic was telling me not to do it. To not fall for it again.

“For what it’s worth,” he said as I fumbled with my key card, “I’m starting to dread this thing ending.”

I paused, looking up at him. “Why?”

“Because I like having you in my kitchen. The real you, I mean. Neon colors and all.”

The confession punched through the armor I’d built around my heart. After everything that had happened, all the harsh words and professional distance, he was telling me he wanted exactly what I had been trying to give him from the beginning.