Page 50 of His Weekend Wife

Swallowing, he rubbed his chin. “Not long.”

“Your dressed. You must have gotten up early.”

Her eyes shone like diamonds.

“About an hour. I had a phone call I had to make.”

She leaned against the headboard, still making sure the sheet stayed in place. “Let me guess. You’ve turned into a working machine.”

He shrugged. “This is just a way of life.”

One corner of her mouth dropped. “That saddens me”

“It shouldn’t. It has no effect on you one way or another.” Shock raised her brows. He hadn’t meant for his words to sound so harsh, but then again, she made no effort to correct him. She just sat quietly. “Looks like we’ve received an invitation to a business associate’s abode.” He watched her closely.

“The business partner who believes that you’re married?”

“Yes.”

She played with the edge of the sheet. “Maybe we should get an understanding of what exactly we’re doing here.”

“We’re husband and wife.”

“Legally, you’re right, but I guess what I’m asking, am I to play the role of the adoring, loving wife or do I make myself scarce unless you have a social event?”

Her description of the situation made his stomach burn. “If you’re asking me if I’m expecting sex, no, it’s not an expectation, but would I like to continue what we shared last night?” His eyes naturally fell on the bed. “The answer is yes. I’d like to continue making love to you as often as humanly possible.”

“Does that include this morning?” Her eyes turned a darker shade.

He shifted to give his cock some growing room. “Oh, that can be arranged, but first you must replenish your body. You’re already too skinny from working yourself day and night.” He stood, lifted the platter and placed it on her lap. “Oatmeal. Does a body good.”

“I hate oatmeal.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Since when?”

“I’ve never been fond of it.”

“I used to make it for you almost every morning.” He was a bit shattered.

She shrugged. “Sorry. The truth must be told. I ate it because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but honestly, I don’t think I can suffer through another bowl.”

“Then at least eat the toast.” He sat down next to her hip on the bed.

“Gladly. I’m starving.” She picked up a piece of the toast, dipped her knife into the jar and spread the apple butter from corner to corner of the triangle. “You’re so thoughtful to make me breakfast.” She bit into the slice.

“It’s the least I could do after I wore you out last night. How did you sleep?” He raised a brow.

The way she tucked her bottom lip between her lips told him what he was hoping. “Like a worn out, well-loved woman.” She wagged her brows, popping the last bit of toast into her mouth.

He laid his hands on either side of her hips and leaned closer, inhaling her sweet scent. “What did you like most?”

“Everything.” A telling flush covered her cheeks.

“My kisses?” He kissed her cheek then pulled away to meet her gaze again.

“Yes, of course.” Her voice trembled.

“My touch?” Trailing his finger along her jaw, her neck, between her collarbones and lower between the cleft of her breasts, loosening the sheet. The covering slipped away, exposing her bunched, rosy nipples.

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