Page 48 of Miss Understood

“You love it.” He grins.

That’s part of the problem—I really do love it. It’s been a while since a man has piqued my interest like Jesse has, especially sexually, and last night was another level. After two years of keeping myself guarded around him, I couldn’t have anticipated what would happen when my walls came crumbling down.

And crumble down they did, in every possible way.

I look up into his warm brown eyes and spot those gold flecks that tether me. There’s heat mixed with something that feels familiar, and I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.

This was supposed to be simple—not that anything about our current situation is actually simple. But we had rules in place for a reason, and I fully intended on walking out of this unscathed.

Sex with a man is one thing—I have no problem taking what I need physically and keeping my feelings carefully tucked away. But sex with Jesse was something else. The man shattered me.

Because it felt good. Because that’s all sex is.

Physical, nothing more.

“Why are we here again?” Jesse asks, looking around.

“Fruit,” I tell him. “And donuts, of course.”

“Of course.” He smiles.

I’m still not sure how I made it out of bed this morning, but I knew if I stayed in those sheets long enough for him to wake up beside me, there would have been no leaving.

“It’s just not the same from the grocery store. At the market it’s actually fresh.”

Jesse nods. “Noted.”

I pop the last bite of donut into my mouth, and we head for the farmer stands.

“Good morning, Luce!” Willow pops up from behind a wall of apples and smiles at me. She took over her family’s farm a few years ago after her mom got sick, and I always make it a point to drop in and support their business.

“Hey, Wills,” I say, noticing her pale blue eyes dart to Jesse.

That happens a lot, it’s something I haven’t missed, even before we were in a fake marriage. But with things slowly changing, I feel it now more than ever. The reaction of women when they catch sight of him. How their breathing quickens and their pupils dilate.

Not that I’m one to talk. For someone who likes to think of herself as fairly composed, I find myself stumbling over my thoughts and words more than I want to admit lately.

Willow brushes her purple-streaked blonde hair off her face and grins. “Who’s your friend?”

“Husband, actually.” Jesse reaches out his hand, and Willow’s eyes widen. Her gaze darts from him to me, and I feel blood rushing to my cheeks.

“He—uh, yes, well, this is Jesse,” I tell her. “My husband.”

I try to make it not sound like it’s coming through gritted teeth as I pin Jesse with a what-the-fuck stare. He smiles, like my annoyance is hilarious to him.

Of course it is.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jesse.” Willow takes his hand and smiles, but her eyes land on me. “Luce’s husband.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“What can I get for you both today?” She smiles.

“I’m not sure,” Jesse says, dramatically looking over the fruit. “What would you like, honey?”

I’m positive my irritation is crawling in a red heat up my skin, because Jesse’s stare flicks to my chest and then back to my eyes with a devious grin.

“Apples,” I say flatly, answering Willow but not breaking eye contact with him. “And maybe some peaches. You do like things juicy, don’t you, dear?”

---