Page 18 of A Temporary Forever

I stare right back, half wondering what the fuck I’m still doing here and half imagining what I can do with her pinned against the wall.

It’s official. I’m completely unhinged around this woman. And the worst part is, I suspect my reasons for taunting her are simple. She doesn’t fall at my feet like all other women.

It’s like when I got my driver’s license and I wantedto drive Finn’s red Ferrari, but he wouldn’t let me. The challenge of getting him to relent was thrilling.

Only now I’m older, and I should be wiser. I should put my ego aside and stop fantasizing about a woman who clearly wants nothing to do with me. And yet the level of maturity I exhibit here is concerning.

She sighs, breaks our gaze, and turns to open a drawer in what I assume is her kitchen. It’s really just a line of drawers below a sink and a stove with two cupboards above it.

She rummages through the drawer that houses all sorts of things besides cutlery. She shuts it and moves on to the next one.

“Merde.”

Shit, that accent. I shift from foot to foot again. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for my passport.” She scowls.

What? Jesus, this woman doesn’t cease to surprise me. And not in a good way. “You don’t know where your passport is?”

She doesn’t answer, but continues with her frantic search. She opens the first cabinet, and my eyes widen. Instead of dishes, the whole cavity is stuffed with books.

Celeste pulls them out in stacks of three or four and shuffles through them beforereturning them. They’re not novels, as I would assume, but business and finance books.

The second kitchen cupboard is a library as well. This time, the shelves are stuffed with fiction.

I open my mouth to ask about the books, but I stop myself. Better let her focus on her task so I can get out of here.

After she’s done in the kitchenette, she moves to a line of purses under her clothes rack.

As she squats to the ground, the ends of the robe slide back, exposing her legs. Even though the woman is soft in all the right places, the hours of dancing clearly molded her legs.

If those legs didn’t belong to this particular woman, I’d love to dig my fingers into her skin and throw them over my shoulders—

I need to distract myself. “You’re not very organized.”

Again, such a gentleman.

Leaning back on her haunches, she gives me her best murderous look. Fuck, she’s hot.

“I’m sorry I don’t have the map.” She tilts her head, her lips curling up.

“Map?” Is she high? I focus on her eyes, but they’re as green as ever.

“So you could locate your manners. You’re ogling again, Caleb.”

“Well, it’s not like I can look anywhere else in this shoebox.” I glare, keeping my gaze on her face, but that doesn’t help.

I still glimpse the rope opening slightly, a flash of black bra haunting me.

I need to get laid. Pronto. And get as far from Celeste Delacroix as possible. There must be some other way to help her that doesn’t require our closeness.

Shaking her head slightly, she returns to her task. Like she’s finally figured out there’s no point in responding to my insults.

Which is a win. I think. It doesn’t feel like one though.

I lean against the door and stare anywhere but at her. My gaze lands on a sketch framed on the wall. “You have an original Cassinetti drawing?”

She looks at the wall as if to confirm we’re talking about the same thing. “Yes.”

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