Page 43 of Anything To Be With You

Luke touches my thigh and my body sings at the contact. "Talk to Mark on Monday.”

"What for?"

"He might be able to get you some backpay on child support."

I give him a questioning look. "You think he’ll help me?"

Luke nods. "It is his job."

I blink at him a few times before smiling. "Thanks Tinman. I guess you do have a heart after all."

Chuckling, he turns his head to me. "You really need to stop talking to Carrie."

I giggle. "No, I like that girl. We’re going to become BFFs and she’s going to tell me all about baby Lucas," I clasp my hands under my chin. "Maybe even show me pictures. And then we’re going to have sleepovers and give each other makeovers and—"

Luke covers my mouth with his hand. "Please don’t."

I lick his palm, and he yanks his hand away like it’s on fire. "Ha ha. Mason taught me that when he was eight. Gross right?" I laugh.

Luke wipes his hand on his pants. "Very."

"Mason taught me some really gross things over the years. Did you know that if you wet tape, peel off the adhesive, and mush it together, it looks like boogers?"

"That is disgusting."

"Right! Mason was a gross kid." I laugh. "But he’s my baby and I love him to death. No matter how gross he is."

"You are a strange woman, Daniella," he says, a smiling tugging at his mouth.

I grin and close my eyes. "And you love every moment of my strangeness."

Stick Up Your Ass

Luke

I watch Dani from the corner of my eye as we lay on the floor of the elevator. She’s relaxed, calm, and has seemed to have forgotten all about being stuck. Her eyes are closed, and her chest raises and falls slowly.

"Why do you always call me Archer?" I ask.

She turns her head and opens one beautiful eye. "Why do you always call me Daniella?"

"Because that's your name." I answer.

She raises a brow. "And Archer is your name."

"It's my last name," I deadpan.

"But it's still your name."

My lip tips up in a smirk. "Touché."

Dani chuckles and nudges me with her shoulder. "Tell me about that tattoo I seen peeking out under your sleeve."

"Why are you so interested in it?" I question.

She rolls onto her side and props her head on her hand. Her shirt pulls tight against her hip and shows off her amazing curves and that cute little tummy Gabe was talking about. Out of nowhere, the urge to trace those curves hits me square in the gut and blood rushes straight to my dick.

"Because you don’t look like the type of guy that would have a tattoo." She answers.

---