Page 62 of Exes and Oh Hell No

I feel a rush of warmth for Ford, but I slam it down.

Hard.

"I happen to like my job." I stab the lasagna again, hating how good it is.

The man can cook, is amazing in bed, hotter than hell, and adores me like he was born for that role.

And now, he’s offering me a dream job with a six-figure salary like it’s nothing.

I feel a thrum of excitement.

A deep, dangerous kind of thrill.

I try to kill it.

Try to smother it.

If Gram or—God forbid, Ford—notices, I’m fucking sunk.

Because as mad and stunned as I was about being kidnapped and told I was going to marry the unhinged, hotter-than-hell hockey center….

The idea is secretly appealing as hell.

Ford’s hand drops onto my thigh again, casual as hell.

His palm is warm.

His fingers flex just enough to make me squirm.

My whole body betrays me.

My thighs clench.

Heat crawls up my spine.

Fuck, Harper.

Don’t do this.

Donotfall in love with your kidnapper.

Donotfall in love with your kidnapper.

Ford’s hand squeezes.

His thumb rubs over my thigh.

Pleasure shoots down my spine like an electric current.

Fuck.

And the worst part?

He knows it.

22

HARPER

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