Page 104 of Imperfect Arrangement

Before I can get another word out, he grips my wrist and pulls me down the hall. “We’re going somewhere.”

“What—where?” I stumble, still trying to wrap my head around the rapid turn of events.

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even look back.

How am I so bad at this sex thing? No surprise I suffered from an orgasm drought.

“Raymond.” I tug my hand out of his grip, and his steps come to a halt. “I came for sex, not your pity.”

His eyes darken like I’ve insulted him on a fundamental level. “You are the last person who needs anyone’s pity, Willow.”

My throat tightens.

He squeezes my hand and starts walking again. “I’m not opposed to sex, Firefly. But I think you could use a drink before we get there.”

My mouth opens, then closes and opens again. “Ray?—”

His grip tightens just enough to send a shiver up my spine. “Have we established tonight’s itinerary, or do you require something other than booze and sex?”

I shake my head because, yeah, booze, sex, and Raymond sound perfect. I let him pull me to the garage, but before getting in his car, I ask, “But what about Quill?”

“Grandpa Will is on his way.”

YOU DON’T SWALLOW, BABY

WILLOW

“Ithought this was a private area,” I mumble as Raymond pulls into a secluded spot along Lake Cherry, slipping past the restricted access sign.

“It is.” His lips curl up in that self-assured smirk that makes my pulse trip over itself. “It belongs to the Hawthorne family. I borrowed it from Charles for a few hours.”

I glance around, taking in the empty parking lot, the quiet lapping of the lake against the shore, the thick blanket of stars stretching across the sky. It’s so far from the noise of town, so private, it might as well exist in another universe. My stomach does a weird little flip.

“This way.” He points ahead at a few steps in the dark and we stop at a gazebo, the kind that looks like it belongs in a movie set. Raymond pulls out his phone, taps a button, and suddenly, the place glows.

Soft fairy lights flicker on, lining the wooden beams and railing. A bench with plush black throw pillows sits in the center, a blanket draped over the armrest. On the table are two bottles and two glasses.

Wow.

“I…can’t believe you did…all this.” I swallow, trying to push back the ridiculous swell of emotion in my chest. “It’s beautiful, Ray.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Glad you like it. It was all last minute.”

How does this man know exactly what will make me pause, take a breath, and let go for once? He could have taken me to a bar or a hotel, as I assumed he would, yet he brought me outdoors, in nature.

We settle on the bench, side by side, and he tucks the blanket over my lap, a casual, easy motion that makes my stomach clench in ways I don’t have the energy to analyze. He uncorks the wine and pours a glass, then hands it to me before reaching for the second bottle.

My eyes drop to the cider.

“You really don’t drink because of Quill?”

He looks up. “Are you surprised?”

I think about it, then shake my head. “Not really. I think you’d do anything for Quill.”

“I’d do anything for the people who matter in my life, Firefly.” His gaze doesn’t move from mine, as if he’s silently telling me that I’m one of those people.

My fingers tighten around the glass.