Free Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) by S. L. Scott Page A

corporate accountants over this last minute tax bullshit.”
    “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been busy anyway.” I fist his shirt in my hands and pull him closer. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”
    Our lips meet.
    Not shy.
    Possessive.
    Reciprocal.
    Smiles interrupt before we go too far. The newness of the relationship is exciting. “That was the condition,” I say, “so we’re all good here.”
    His hands go to my sides and he whispers, “I missed you if that matters.”
    “It matters a lot.”
    More kisses from him. More giggles from me .
    “Show me around your place.” He walks away, letting his fingers linger on my hip as he passes. Studying the room, he turns. “You just have the one piece?”
    I follow his gaze to the painting that hangs above my couch. “Yeah.”
    “I thought you’d have an apartment full of art, putting mine to shame.”
    Although I could have bought all the pieces he did, I don’t treat myself that way. A touchy subject. A complicated one too.
    “I apologize.” Worry graces his face, his forehead wrinkling as he approaches. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that this one isn’t enough—”
    “I know. It’s okay, Austin. You didn’t offend me. This painting is the only one that struck me enough to hang it.”
    He kisses the side of my head, his hand finding my waist again before he turns to stand in front of it. “It’s an extraordinary piece. The streaks making it unique. Was water used on it?”
    “Something like that.”
    “Oil, not acrylic?”
    “Yes.”
    “I can give you a tour, but it will consist of: here’s the living room, this way to the bedroom, and the bathroom right through there, and then we’d be back in the kitchen.”
    He must have noticed the lack of furniture, the lack of décor, the lack of life because he asks, “I like it, Jules. Have you lived here long?”
    “Yes, a while now and thank you, but you’re being too kind. I know it’s small, but it is what it is and about all I can manage to maintain with the amount of hours I put in at the gallery.”
    “It’s great. Now,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “How can I help with dinner?”
    I laugh because like him, I ordered food. “You can help me unpack the bag. Hope you like spicy. I ordered Thai.”
    Thirty minutes later, he sets his plate down on the counter. “That was great. I haven’t had Thai in a few months, maybe a year. Thank you.”
    “My pleasure.” I clear the plates, putting them in a sink of soapy water, and offer him another beer.
    We ate standing up in the kitchen. Austin makes himself more comfortable by moving to the couch. With a devious grin, he says, “You know I always crave something sweet after eating something spicy. Can I treat you to an ice cream?”
    “Make it a froyo and you got yourself a deal.”
    He stands and stretches. “Froyo it is.”
    The night is warm, no sweater needed, but I stand close to him anyway. “Oh my God! This is unf!”
    “Unf?” he repeats.
    I lick my spoon clean and see him smile at me. “Yes, unf! It’s orgasmic.”
    He laughs and I blush, but I love saying what I want around him. He takes everything in stride and has a great sense of humor.
    “Speaking of,” I start to say, but rise up on my toes and kiss him instead of finishing with words.
    His lips are cold from the frozen yogurt and he tastes of berries. His free hand finds the back of my head, holding me to him, both of us wanting more. Our chilled tongues heat quickly once they touch, mingle, and slide. A moan escapes as I forget about my dessert and savor him instead.
    Although I don’t, he must have remembered where we are because he stops with a gentle smile on his face and whispers. “You make me want to do things to you, Ms. Weston, but not on a New York street.”
    I toss the rest of my frozen treat into the garbage and take his hand. “Yeah, I think we’re done here. Let’s go back.”
    He tosses his own container and we start walking. We