Imperfect Bastard by Pamela Ann Read Free Book Online Page A

check on whatever was in the hot pot in front of him.
    Fuck. If my mouth had watered before, I was beyond salivating this time. Good grief. Was he ever planning to wear a shirt around here?
    The ventilation fan was being used in full force, so I doubted he had heard me enter. I stood there for a moment, contemplating if I should try to get his attention or leave him be since he was busy with the heated pan where the garlic was being caramelized before he added the minced onion into the mix. I could stare at him all day long, and I wouldn’t be bored, but as lovely as that idea was, it sure as hell wasn’t feasible. Not now, not ever.
    Slightly shaking my head to free it of idiotic thoughts, I took a few steps toward the six-seater glass table before leaving my purse and the paper bag on one of the seats.
    I could feel my adrenaline kick up a notch as I approached the fridge, which was conveniently located next to where he stood.
    “Hey,” I half-yelled at him before opening the fridge to get a small bottle of Fiji water before shutting it and leaning against it.
    “You’re home,” he noted, his eyes on me.
    I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I had this odd notion to be a bit daring as I opened the bottle, brought it to my lips, and began to drink it while our eyes were glued to each other. Just as expected, his blue ones darted from my amber ones then to my lips before he lowered his gaze toward my neck, watching it closely as the tip of his tongue came out to lick the bottom of his lip, stimulated.
    “Do you want some?” I rasped out, watching his eyes dilate at the sight of my lips.
    “Is that an offer or a challenge? I can’t be too sure,” he answered in a low, grated voice before he his gaze clashed again with mine.
    This was nice and all, but as tempting as it was to keep playing with fire, a woman could only be burned so many times until she knew better and learned to appreciate from afar.
    Forming a tight smile, I handed him the bottle. “Water. I meant water; that’s all.”
    Something crossed his face. I couldn’t be sure if it was anger, disappointment, or irritation. Maybe a mixture of the three. Whatever it was, it passed, and his face became unreadable before he diverted his attention back to cooking.
    I should have felt somewhat triumphant at my little display, yet I felt far from it. Somehow, his immediate withdrawal made me feel empty, bereft that he had disengaged so quickly.
    Trying to engage him in a conversation was seriously out of the question. Instead, I strolled toward the living room with my phone in hand. Then I slipped my checkered Burberry ballet flats off and casually lounged on one of the white couches, hoping my brother arrived soon to ease the tension.
    I occupied my time by sending my best friend Courtney a quick text about how my day had gone and that I hoped hers had gone better than mine. I was quite surprised to see that Spencer had just sent me one, as well.
    How did your day go? Just want to ask if you’d be interested in coming along this weekend. We’re heading to Miami, and it’d be amazing if you’d join and keep me company. I promise to behave this time.
    I hardly doubted Spencer knew what behave meant, but that was beside the point. There was an attraction between us, yet I still had some reservations. Besides, I sort of wanted to see what else was out there, enjoy my first year here without needing to worry about someone else’s feelings while I partied the night away. True, I wasn’t much of a party girl, but I didn’t want any obligations whatsoever on the romantic front.
    Even if Spencer didn’t want to pursue anything serious with me, I wanted something different. My soul craved something edgy and maybe a little taste of danger … a whole different sphere, something unexplored, unexperienced by me before. Whatever that might be, I knew for a fact that Spencer wasn’t the guy to deliver the goods.
    Before I could manage to type in my reply, Jackson