Page 104 of Filthy Fae

“Well, excuse me,” I said, stepping back. “Not all women are Maria, now are they?”

“That remains to be seen,” he said, glowering at me.

“You know what, Waylon? You’re a bit of a bastard.”

He snorted. “A bit?”

I could see a tiny crack in his armor, and I was going to take full advantage. “A half-ass, right? And no offense, but isn’t it kind of hypocritical for you to worry about me betraying you when you’re the one who went behind my back and told my mother about us last year? And in case you forgot, I have a cheating ex, too, and I’m not constantly worrying I’m going to walk in and find some skank riding your face.”

“That’s true,” Waylon said. “But I’m also not inviting the skank who rode your boyfriend to come hang out with us.”

“I didn’t invite Cody,” I said, throwing my hands up. “He showed up.”

“You certainly seemed eager to welcome him to Coyote Ranch, though, didn’t you?”

“Do I think he’s a sorry rat-bastard? Sure. But I also think he’s just plain sorry. It’s up to you if you give him a second chance. He didn’t betray me. Although I’d like to kick him in the nuts if he’s the reason you hate women so much.”

“He’s not,” Waylon growled. “That bastard doesn’t have that kind of power over us.”

“Then it’s her,” I said, my throat suddenly salty with tears. “I knew you still had feelings for her. That’s why you’re so closed off with me.”

“I don’t give a damn about her,” Waylon growled, taking a menacing step toward me.

“That’s what you’re thinking when you criticize me all the time, isn’t it? That you wish I was more like your darling Maria?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. Not because I was about to cry—okay, so partially because I was about to cry, but mostly because I suddenly smelled something burning. I’d forgotten the stupid cookies.

I turned on my heel and ran for the kitchen, where I threw open the oven door. A cloud of smoke billowed into my face. Swiping a potholder from the counter, I batted and waved the smoke away, coughing and trying not to breathe it in.

“Amber,” Waylon said from the door.

“Do not even talk to me right now,” I said, yanking the tray out and waving it at him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s not a good time.”

“I’m not comparing you to anyone.”

“You’re still defending yourself?” I grabbed a charred cookie with the potholder and hurled it at him. It crumbled to the floor halfway to him, landing with a sad little thud.

“I’m not—” He held up his hands to ward off the next blackened missile.

I threw another, this one with even more fervor. Waylon ducked, and it sailed over his head and straight into the Christmas tree in the living room. The gentle tinkle of bells sounded as it hit some ornaments on its way down.

“Would you stop that?” Waylon thundered. He strode across the room toward me, but I kept hurling burnt chunks of cookie. One bounced off his chest, but he ignored it, ripped the cookie sheet out of my hand and threw it on the stovetop behind me.

He grabbed me and kissed me hard, knocking the breath out of me as he shoved me back against the counter. Yanking open the button to my jeans, he started to push them down over my hips. “I’m going to fuck you so hard the neighbors hear you screaming,” he growled, wrenching my jeans down around my thighs.

“No, wait,” I said, pushing back on his chest.

“What?” he demanded, his breath ragged, his eyes blazing with lust.

“Take me upstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to.”

“Have it your way,” he said, and he bent and scooped me up in a fireman’s carry. Except there was no fire, so I didn’t have to worry about burning to death. But I pretended, since Waylon was whisking me away from a smoke-filled kitchen.

After my initial squeal of surprise, I pushed myself upright. “Come on, carry me straight,” I said, batting at his broad shoulders.