Page 88 of Their Greatest Strength

“I was being serious earlier, you know?” Jamie asks, tightening his arm where he has it wrapped around my back.

Having shed his suit jacket out in the car, he sways me around the kitchen in a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up his arms. Even his tie is loose, draping over his neck.

I focus on not tripping over my dress while following his lead. “About what? Having two left feet? Because you’re clearly a better dancer than I am, liar.”

“Okay, I may have exaggerated a bit there, but no, that’s not what I was talking about.”

“Go on.”

He tugs, bringing our bodies closer while looking down at me with that stupid, sexy smirk of his.

“You look gorgeous.”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed tonight, even with all the compliments.”

His laugh is deep and quiet, stroking invisible fingers down my neck. “I know. You’ll be sleeping in mine instead.”

“Oh? That’s the first I’m hearing of this.”

“Well, there wouldn’t exactly be a lot of sleeping,” he purrs, pressing his cheek to my temple, increasing how fast we move.

“Were you planning on telling me about this before we got to your bed, or am I just supposed to sharpen my weapons and have them at the ready?”

“I’d prefer no sharp weapons in bed, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

Even through his teasing, I don’t freak out.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve grown to trust him completely. If I didn’t, the mere mention of being in bed with him would have had me kicking and screaming.

It’s the opposite now. I might not have stolen any more midnight snoozes in his bed when he isn’t home, but over the past few nights leading up to today, I’ve lingered with him on the couch after dinner and even invited him to Nate’s football practice this coming week.

Our nightly dinners together have become a constant, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Cooking whatever I want, whenever I want to because there are ingredients in the fridge and two men who could eat three portions of everything has sparked the flame in my chest that has grown stagnant the past five years.

There have been so many things that have made being paraded around like a show pony worth it, and every day, I’m a bit more grateful for saying yes.

A friendship with Jamie was the last thing I expected but is now the one that I’m the most scared to lose.

“How much longer do we have to dance? The fridge is going to start dinging at us for leaving its door open,” I muse, palming his shoulder blade.

The cool light from inside the fridge streams through the kitchen, casting shadows of us on the walls. With the sun nearly set outside the window, the tiny light is all we’ve got.

Jamie hums low in his throat, making his chest vibrate with the strength of it. “Antsy to get into my bed, wife?”

“What would you do if I said yes?” I coo, dragging my hand to rest low on his back, teasing the waist of his slacks. When I tip my head to meet his gleaming blue eyes, I make a show of fluttering my lashes. “Lift me in your big, strong arms again and carry me upstairs?”

“Is that how you want to get around from now on, Blakely? In my arms?”

“What good are your muscles if you don’t use them to make my life easier?”

“And your life is so hard right now? Dancing with your husband in our kitchen, knowing that I’m in awe of how stunning you are?”

“It’s notourkitchen.”

My palms are clammy, and I know he can tell. The further his smirk stretches, the more I want to prove that his win at his parents’ house was a fluke. He’s too confident, and being the one to bring him down a few pegs fills me with a thrilling sense of excitement.

With the knowledge that I’m entering a war that could end very badly for me, I press my chest against his, fully aware of the tight corset doing a million favours for my tits. They swell against the neckline of my dress, and with him distracted, I take control of our swaying, spinning us around. His back hits the fridge door, and it closes with a bang, casting us in darkness.

The black in his eyes swells as he drops his gaze between us and bravely cups the top curve of my ass, hitching my hips forward to meet his.

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