Page 28 of Love In Translation

She wasn’t ready to leave, and for some reason, he couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t ready to let her go. But he couldn’t help wondering how she’d ask him... Would she dance around the subject? Would she ask without frills and fuss? Or would she chicken out and leave?

Rheo put her chair down, her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her clenched fist. This woman had so many layers, and he wanted to peel them off one by one.

A ripple of terror chased up his spine. He enjoyed peeling off clothes, but going skin-deep was as far as he ventured. Relationships required sacrifices he wasn’t ready to make, and he had no interest in working out what made a woman tick. Rheo, damn her, tugged uncomfortable feelings to the surface.

A part of him hoped she left the Pink House and Gilmartin, and took her big eyes, her tempting body, and her vulnerability somewhere else. The rest of him wanted to take her right here on her grandmother’s kitchen table.

She lifted her head and her eyes slammed into his. “Carrie’s delay doesn’t change anything, Fletcher,” she told him. “I said I would go, and that is what I should do.”

Should. She said “should,” and that one word was a cracked door, a sliver of light.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice deeper than normal. He pushed an agitated hand through his hair. If she wouldn’t ask, he’d tell her. “If you want to stay, that’s fine.”

Then he added, “And I won’t tell Carrie you’re here.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. I’d like to stay.”

She reached for his phone and spun it around. She liked to fiddle with things when agitated. He wasn’t a master of zen either. He was on a mental surfboard, feeling a mammoth wave rising underneath him. It would either be a great ride, or he’d wipe out spectacularly.

He frowned at the flash of frustration skipping across her face. “Am I missing something here?” he demanded.

Rheo sent him a smile as old as time and full of promise. A smile that made him lose his words. His shorts tightened across his lap. Rheo crossed one tanned thigh over the other and he nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Look, I know that I’m not wildly good at flirting,” she said, “but I’ve noticed you looking at me. I’ve certainly done my fair share of looking at you, and you’ve caught me once or twice. I think you’re attracted to me—”

Think?His eyes followed her every movement, and it took all his willpower not to make a move every hour of every day. He leaned forward and waited until she met his eyes. When she did, he kept his tone low, but definite. “I’mveryattracted to you, Rheo.”

She nodded, closed her eyes, and scrunched up her nose. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you, Fletch. I’m tired of lying in bed, wishing you were with me, wishing your hands were streaking over my skin.”

Holy crap.Okay, then. He was about to make a move—hadn’t she given him a green light?—but Rheo motioned him to sit.

“Hold your horses, cowboy,” she murmured.

His horses were way out of control, and judging by the glint of amusement in her eyes, she liked his eagerness.

“Spit it out, Rheo,” he muttered. He looked at his hand, shocked to find his fingers trembling. This woman wanted him and it made himtremble.

Pull yourself together, Wright! Whoareyou?

“I’d like to stay in Gilmartin for a little while longer, Fletcher,” Rheo said in her precise way. “But I also want to sleep with you on a let’s-have-fun-while-we-can basis.”

He was on board. So, so on board.

“As long as you know there’s nothing more to my offer than some fun between the sheets. I’m not looking for anything more.”

Fletch frowned. That was his line, and she’d delivered it with aplomb. Unfortunately, her words didn’t ring true. Not because Rheo didn’t believe what she was saying—he could tell she meant every word—but because she deserved more. Sheshouldbe in a relationship. Rheo should have someone to love and support her. Not him but someone...

You’re overthinking this, Wright.She’d offered and was waiting for his answer.

He wanted Rheo, Rheo wanted him...

Rheo looked anxious, like he was about to reject her... Jesus, how wrong could she be?

He stood and held out his hand. She slid her smaller hand into his. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Very.”

Fletch nodded, dropped her hand, bent his knees, and in one smooth movement, lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

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