Page 92 of Unmatched

I blink, caught off guard by his candor. Seth is an awesome brother-in-law, and despite what he’d have some people think, he truly is a decent person. But his open promiscuity has always made me blush. “You know, I think my imagination can fill in the blanks pretty well.”

He shrugs, his smile stretching into a grin. “Anyway, seems like you two had some fun of your own, right?”

My eyes widen, heat creeping into my cheeks. Can he read on my face what we did? Or did he hear us? I’m not sure what time he returned from his exploits, but the walls of this little house are paper thin. I stare into my mug, unable to meet his eyes. “Did Anton talk to you about it?”

“No. But my brother’s got-laid face is pretty different from the needs-to-be-fucked expression he’s been wearing all week.”

Oh my God. He is probably at least picturing what we did right now, and I might as well be standing here naked in their dying mother’s house. My face lights up with shame. I pour questionable-smelling milk into my coffee, taking a gulp when it doesn’t curdle. But if it was poison and I died on the spot, that might be okay.

“It’s good to see him happy,” Seth says more quietly. “Both of you. Mom always said you two were gonna last.”

This makes me pause. I remember Sharon saying that, often with a wink, before telling us some story about her one true love, Anton and Seth’s dad. I feel a little pang of guilt thinking about how close we’ve come to not lasting. Maybe in part because of my messed up feelings about having sex with my own husband.

I clear my throat. “I’m glad he seemed satisfied,” I say, then quickly make a bid to change the subject. “Bruno’s looking good.”

The cat glances up from his smelly fish breakfast and gives a hoarse meow before winding affectionately between our legs. Seth scoops him up and cradles him with zero regard for his expensive-looking suit. Bruno starts up his motor, resting his orange-and-white smudged chin on Seth’s shoulder. “Thanks. Gotta keep Old Salty fat and happy for Mom.”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and he takes the call, wandering out of the room with the cat just as Anton comes through the kitchen door.

My husband pauses on the threshold. He’s shirtless, absolutely dripping with sweat, and judging by his expression, was not expecting to see me.

“Good morning,” I say shyly.

“Morning.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, toweling off with the shirt tucked into his waistband. He doesn’t look unhappy, but he isn’t looking right at me either. I get the distinct impression he’s as lost for what else to say as I am.

I rise from my stool, realizing that actions might come more easily. But as I move closer to him, my confidence wavers. Last night, I’d had the “Classic Guide” to refer to, at least in my head. With its instructions on where to look, how to touch, and how to act. It was everything I needed. Now, I’m not sure. Do I touch him? Should I speak? After a moment, he sneaks a look at me like he’s thinking all the same things, and this is the push I need. I reach out tentatively, running my fingers over his heated skin. And it works. He closes the remaining space between us, warming the air around us with his body and filling my nose with a masculine, sweaty scent.

“Thought you’d sleep a little later,” he says, bringing his hands to my waist—only lightly, like he’s afraid to leave them there. In answer, I wrap my arms around his neck.

“I—I wasn’t sure why you left.” I look down, feeling stupidly insecure. I guess because he’s pulled away when I thought things were better with us before.

“Just needed to run so I could think.” His fingers trace lightly under my shirt, along the bare skin at my waist, sending shivers through me.

“What did you think about?”

“Everything. Mom, the Pooches, us...” His voice and posture are so heavy. He twists a lock of my hair around one finger, then tugs lightly. “Although mostly my mind ran an X-rated loop of replays from last night.”

I raise my head and his eyes are dancing. I laugh, despite my burning cheeks, planting a kiss on his lips.

“I’d tell you two to get a room,” Seth says, coming back into the kitchen sans cat. “But I’m going to work, so the place is yours. Just don’t spill anything on the furniture.”

I pull away too quickly and too stiffly—embarrassed and ashamed for being embarrassed all at once. Anton frowns. But then he grabs my hand, clasping my fingers possessively. Reassuringly.

“Actually, I was thinking we should head back to Denver,” he says to Seth. “Lydia’s got some big stuff going on at work.”

He squeezes my hand again, and I look at him in surprise. His eyes are bright. There’s no resentment in his voice, but I’m not entirely sure how to interpret his expression. It’s sort of...anticipatory.

“Oh yeah?” Seth raises a brow. “What’s going on in Poochville?”

“Well...at first, it was going to be an acquisition,” I say, watching Anton carefully. “But now it looks like I’ve negotiated a partnership.”

“Really?” Seth raises both brows. “Will that complicate things with the new place opening?”

I shake my head, squeezing Anton’s fingers back, growing more confident as I think over my conversation with Henry. “Not at all. It should actually simplify some stuff. Make it easier to expand while taking a lot of the burden off me.”

Seth looks at his brother. “Can’t argue with that, I guess.”

“It’s a bold move.” Anton nods, looking similarly impressed. And inside me, it feels like something’s started to glow. “Lydia’s just proving her brilliance as a businesswoman once again.”

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