Free Perfectly Broken by Prescott Lane Page B

tender than the last — with no rush, no hurry, just as he promised. She felt special, wanted, secure; he seemed to have no intention of making her the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, he shielded her from any potential danger, positioning himself between her and the occasional drunk or crazy stumbling near them.
    Suddenly her heart banged loudly when he stopped in front of the Cornstalk Hotel, a famous bed and breakfast known for its decorative iron fence. Peyton ran her hands over the cornstalks, pumpkins, vines, and a yellow butterfly. So this was part of Plan B . The man holding her hand was the real danger, not the drunks and crazies. She now feared he never had any intention of keeping his promise to go slowly.
    “The story goes that an early owner built the fence for his young wife,” Reed said, having stood in this spot countless times before, always alone, not quite sure what drew him back again and again, something about the fence elusive to him.
    Peyton squeezed his hand, relieved, realizing this was only part of the tour.
    “He thought it would help her be less homesick or something. She was from Iowa and missed her childhood home.”
    A rush of vanilla hit him as a breeze blew through the air. He took off his jacket and slid it around Peyton’s shoulders, his fingers grazing her neck when he moved her hair to the side. Her eyes locked on his, and he pulled on the jacket collar to bring Peyton close to him. He took his time, teasing her, his warm breath just barely brushing her lips. Her hands slid up the muscles of his back, pulling his lips even closer to hers, hoping he’d kiss her, ready to crawl up his body, begging, if he didn’t.
    Reed gave a sexy smile, eyeing her mouth, and took a step back. Peyton felt the muscles between her legs clench in disappointment, but she wasn’t about to show it, straightening her spine. “I thought you said our date would be ‘pretty damn hot’?”
    Reed laughed. He hadn’t laughed like this with a woman before. She was just so damn funny and cute, standing before him wearing his jacket. He didn’t mind her wearing oversized clothing if it was his. “Come here,” he said and pulled her back to him, lifting her in the air and kissing her firmly on the lips. He felt her smile behind their kiss and couldn’t help but smile himself. He put her down, and she leaned against his chest for a moment.
    * * *
    They left the Cornstalk Hotel and slipped into a bar to grab a drink. When Reed excused himself to the restroom, Peyton thought to call Quinn to tell her things were going well, that she didn’t need to worry. She began to dial when a loud, screeching voice began an awful version of “I Want to Sex You Up.” Her head darted up, half-expecting to see Reed doing his best Color Me Badd impersonation, but instead she found a fat guy thrusting his hips on stage, to the delight of some drunks egging him on.
    The fat guy lumbered around the stage, slobbering on the microphone, his sweat dripping with each step. He spotted a girl in an oversized jacket in the crowd and pointed a thick finger directly at her. “Come up here, and let me sex you up, girl!” The crowd roared in delight, encouraging Peyton to join the fat guy on stage, but she politely declined and stepped outside to wait for Reed and call Quinn.
    An old female creature with wiry black hair and metal bracelets quickly approached Peyton from behind, seizing her hand and forearm, a long red fingernail forcing up her jacket sleeve. “Read your palm, dear?” Peyton jerked her arm away, but the hag gripped even tighter, cackling, her nail digging against Peyton’s flesh. “Madame Mona can tell a lot by a person’s hands.” Peyton pulled away again but still couldn’t break free. “You got something to hide, dear?”
    She considered punching the woman in the face or calling out for help but decided that would be ridiculous and embarrassing on a first date. The woman continued to speak, a foul stench