Page 62 of Buckled in Barbwire

“Listen, Twinkles. My money is yours. Spend it freely.”

“That’s not possible.”

I tuck some unruly hair behind her ear. “You’ll get used to it.”

Her breathing goes shallow. “I could say that for a lot of things, but what’s yours isn’t mine.”

I lean in, trailing my nose along her neck with a deep inhale. “You smell like mine.” My fingers tug the hem of her borrowed shirt. “Look like mine too.”

“In name only.” But she doesn’t pull away.

Contentment pulses under my skin. I could get used to this. “Until I convince you otherwise.”

She hums while inspecting my half-lidded stare. “Is Boozy Brody still here?”

My palm drifts along her side. “I don’t mind having you around whether I’m buzzed or not.”

“Careful or I’ll think you like me.”

I trail my fingers to her hip, fisting white cotton instead of her bare flesh. “And if I do?”

Her laugh is a lie. “Don’t get attached, husband. This isn’t real.”

“Maybe it should be,” slips from me without warning.

Paisley peers deep into my eyes, peeling away layers to reach what I keep hidden. Our breaths mingle while seconds stretch the silence. I let her search until she grows tired of trying to find any semblance of good. After what feels like hours, she squints and a grin stretches her lips.

“I see you,” she whispers.

“Kinda hard not to when I’m right here.”

She shakes her head. “The real you.”

This time, I’m the one to avert my gaze. “Doubt it.”

She shoves my shoulder and hops out of bed. “I’m just messing with you. Don’t be so serious.”

My pulse drums to the beat of her skipping down the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she croons.

I sit upright, about to give chase. “Yes.”

Her laughter taunts my concern that she’s leaving me again. “I’m going to make us breakfast. Feel free to join me when you’re ready, old man.”

My heart jolts at her playful tone. “Old man?”

“Do you prefer ancient?”

Oh, she’s going to get it for that ridiculous endearment. I spring to my feet like a young stud just to prove a point. My heavy stride pounds on the steps as I prowl after my wife. I skid to a stop when she comes into view.

Paisley is swaying to her own tempo in front of the stove. I never thought that watching a woman cook wouldturn me on. But she isn’t any woman. It’s becoming arousingly obvious that I have a crush on my wife, especially while she’s wearing my shirt and frying bacon.

I genuinely like her, which is a problem if she insists on ending our marriage as soon as possible. Last night shifted our dynamic. She can deny it but I’m not alone in this. That means I’m going to enjoy her company while she allows it.

Paisley must sense my attention and glances at me over her shoulder. “Like what you see, husband?”

“Very much so.” Now I just have to convince her to stay.

---