Page 16 of Resisting His Charm
“You do not want to take me out for dinner around here,” I tell him.
“I don’t say shit I don’t mean. I’m picking you up at seven.”
“Let me guess? You know where I live as well?” I ask him.
“Sure do, Poppy Luanne Kestral.” He smirks before leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine.
My body isn’t onboard with my mind, because instead of pulling back and slapping him across the face, I’m melting into him. And then, as if nothing happened, he pulls back, stands, and walks out of the room.
It’s not until I pivot towards the bed that I see the hundred-dollar bills he left there for me. I frown, pick them up, and pocket them. I’ll shove 'em back in his face when he turns up on my doorstep tonight, because I have no doubt he will.
Chapter Seven
I’ve never been more fucking bored in my life. Sitting in a rented house with three soldiers, because in my occupation, it’s fucking stupid to travel anywhere alone and I sure as fuck wasn’t bringing any of my cousins out to Texas. The last thing I need is word getting back to those fuckers about what I’m doing here.
I’ve been watching the clock all afternoon, waiting and cursing myself for not telling Poppy I’d pick her up earlier. When the time finally comes, I have one of the soldiers drive me, the other two following in a matching rented SUV.
Poppy lives in a cottage in the middle of fucking nowhere on what I’m assuming by the sign we drove under is her family’s ranch. I pull up to the house. I found it earlier on Google maps.
“No need for you to get out, Jules,” I tell my driver. “I doubt any fuckers will be jumping down from the trees around here.”
“Probably not,” he says.
I lift my hand to knock on the door. Before my knuckles make contact, it swings open and I’m greeted by a very pissed-off looking Poppy. “Just so you know, I’m not a whore.” She slams five hundred-dollar bills into my chest.
“What the fuck?”
“You left that today.”
“Because you gave me a treatment. I was paying for the treatment, not your pussy, Poppy. I don’t pay for sex,” I tell her.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,oh.” I step forward, forcing her to take a step backwards. When I’m far enough inside the cottage, I close the door. “I’m from Vegas. You think I need to fly all the way out to Texas if I wanted a whore?”
“Probably not.” She shakes her head.
I want to shove her up against the wall and devour her. But I’m here to take her to dinner… first. The devouring part is happening after.
“You ready to go?” I look down at her. She’s dressed in a pink-and-white striped pajama set.
“Ah, no. I don’t think we should go out,” she says.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a small town, and everyone here knows me. And you, well, you don’t fit in.”
“Poppy, go get dressed. We’re going to dinner.”
She squints her eyes at me. “You know, I might have liked it when you ordered me around in the bedroom but in real life, that’s not happening.”
“Poppy, can you go get dressed so I can take you to dinner, please?” I ask.
“That’s better.” She smiles. “But I’m warning you, you’re going to be the topic of gossip around these parts for the next ten years.”
I don’t give a fuck who talks about me. “Good, let them all know I’m with you. Any man would be fucking proud as fuck to be seen with you, Poppy.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Give me five minutes. You can wait in the lounge.” She points to the blue-and-white checked sofa.
