Page 69 of Married to the Frenemy

“Yes,” comes my swift reply.

“Me, too.”

“But—”

He presses his finger to my lips, silencing my protest. “I get it. There are a thousand reasons this is a bad idea.”

I laugh, oddly relieved that he understands.

“But I could probably come up with twice as many reasons why this might be a good idea. Instead of standing here and dictating what this should or shouldn’t be, maybe we just…let it be. We’ll take it one day at a time.” He pulls me closer as he inches his lips toward mine. “Or one incredible orgasm at a time. How does that sound?”

“Like either a really good idea. Or a really horrible idea,” I respond breathily.

“There’s only one way to find out. Isn’t there?” His mouth hovers over mine, so close I can barely focus on anything other than tasting him.

“There is.”

“Then let’s find out, Haley.”

I draw in a steadying breath, then nod. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats.

I close my eyes, bracing myself for his kiss.

But it never comes.

Instead, he releases me and spins around.

I watch with a mixture of bewilderment and frustration as he walks out of the kitchen without a single care that he’s left me a panting mess of hormones.

Or maybe this was his plan all along.

As he’s about to head upstairs, he glances over his shoulder. “Enjoy your day… Wife.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

HALEY

“Oh, my god.”

When I hear Parker’s voice, I look up from my sketchpad as she plops down into the chair across from me at a table outside the local coffee shop, a knowing gleam in her blue eyes.

“You’ve had sex.”

I choke on my iced coffee, liquid spewing out of my nose.

“What makes you say that?” I ask once I get my coughing under control.

“You’ve got that thoroughly fucked glow. I’m right, aren’t I?” She takes a sip from her coffee and leans closer to whisper, “You and Beckham finally consummated your marriage, didn’t you?”

I bite on my lower lip, trying to fight my smile from just how good Beckham was at consummating our marriage. But it’s impossible. The mere mention of it causes my skin to flush, my veins pulsing with heat.

One thing was certain. Beckham Lawrence could give any book boyfriend a run for his money. He was an animal, unable to get enough of me.

And I was more than willing to be his prey.

“It’s not like that,” I say, not wanting her to think this changes things between Beckham and me.

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