Page 42 of Reckless Vow

“Someone is testy this morning.”

“That would be you, darling.”

Right then, Brook enters the kitchen and stops in her tracks.

“I got to go.” I hang up.

I have no reason to feel guilty about calling Chloe darling, especially since it was sarcastic.

And Brook has no right to assume there are no darlings in my life.

Those are facts.

They have nothing to do with the annoyingly unpleasant feeling in my chest. Like I got caught doing something wrong. Or hurting her.

Brook glowers. “Good morning,bro.”

Fuck. My. Life.

“You seem all sunshine this morning,” I quip.

“No thanks to you.”

She pushes around me to pour herself a coffee.

We both move at the same time and end up so close to each other that I can feel the heat radiating from her.

Moving to the side, we choose the same direction and end up pressed against each other again.

The coffee gurgles behind us. The birds chirp outside. The vacuum is running upstairs where the housekeeper is trying to do her job.

Brook licks her lips, and my mind immediately imagines her mouth wrapped around my cock.

Even though she’s glowering.

This dance we’re trying to master is completely off, failing to follow any rhythm. And we’re certainly not going to improve it unless we either fuck to release the sexual tension or find a larger house where we can avoid each other for the entire year.

The former has the potential to explode in our faces. The latter is stupid because even if I don’t run into her, I will still know—my cock will still know—that she is around.

She raises her eyebrow, and I realize I’m still staring at her full lips.

It’s been ten years and I remember their exact flavor. Having her this close makes all the memories rush back… some of them disturbing my composure, some of them just rushing straight to my groin.

The doorbell saves me from doing something I’d regret, because sometime in the last few days my dick has won control over my brain when I’m around her.

She frowns and pushes around me. “Are you expecting someone?”

I follow her, the hydraulic hiss coming from outside reminding me of my expected delivery.

Brook opens the front door, then snaps her head around to me. “What’s that?”

“A tow truck.”

The truck’s winch groans as my favorite car is slowly lowered, its tires making a soft thud when they touch the pavement.

“On the truck.” She huffs with exasperation.

“Maserati GranTurismo.”

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