Page 57 of Desperate Actions

And damn.

His stare is so focused, so intense, I swear I tremble as I walk. My pussy clenches as heat and awareness stir inside me.

If I had any confidence in my sexual prowess, I’d march right over to him and sit myself on his juicy, muscular thighs. But I’m not quite there yet.

I feel nervous. A little shy. Like I don’t know what to do now that we—you know.

I shouldn’t feel this way.

But I do.

I clear my throat. “Hi,” I say, shyly, uncertain.

His gaze softens, but his jaw stays tight.

“Hi,” he says, his voice low, warm, familiar.

Then—he stands.

Pulls out a chair.

I bite my lip, hesitating, watching him.

Such good manners, but all the men in our family have them.

I shouldn’t read anything into it.

I shouldn’t let myself believe this is more than it is.

Only, when he leans down and presses a kiss to my head as I sit, I kinda do.

Because Sammy makes me feel special.

Like when he said his vows in that little chapel.

Or afterwards, when he took me to bed and made our bodies one.

Maybe he really means it when he says this thing between us is real.

But what if he doesn’t?

I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive it, if this is just another fleeting thing to him.

It’s scary, being vulnerable.

But my parents didn’t raise a coward.

And when I meet Sammy’s mossy, unreadable stare, I make a choice.

I force the words past my lips, even as my heart pounds hard enough to bruise my ribs.

“What’s going on inside that magnificent head of yours?” he murmurs, voice low, warm, coaxing.

I inhale, steadying myself.

“I’m just thinking, I mean, are we really doing this, Sammy?”

His expression hardens, like he already knows where this is going.

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