Page 7 of Married to Number 22
Gray eyes on mine.
Holding. Searching.
I know mine are likely as unfathomable as hers were moments ago.
But I don’t lower the plate.
And I know when she realizes that I’m not playing around either, that my stubborn streak has come out, that I’m not eating this alone.
Do I know why I haven’t addressed the wholegetting marriedthing? Nope.
Or maybe it’s another yes, but I don’twantto address it situation.
Either way, she takes the plate.
I serve up the other half, plunk it onto the plate, and break off a chunk with my fork, shoving it into my mouth.
And promptly moaning.
God, what’s it about store-bought cake with heaps of buttercream that tastes so damned good?
Nostalgia, I guess.
I open my eyes, scoop up another bite, and shove it into my mouth. Then freeze when I see she’s watching me.
Closely.
Intently.
“What?” I ask through my bite.
She tilts her head to the side again and my heart pulses. Cute. She was always cute. And tempting. And…left me obsessed.
Wanting.
But I’m not a teenager now.
I’m a grown man. I’m in control of my emotions, my feelings, myobsessions.
Except apparently, when she moves toward me, setting her plate beside mine, lifting a hand and placing the palm lightly on my chest.
My heart beats faster.
My dick twitches.
My brain conveniently forgets about the whole marriage contract thing.
Especially when she murmurs, “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
Four
Luna
I didn’t meanto come this close, didn’t mean to touch him, to say that.
But I couldn’t have predicted the effect my words have on him.
His hand settles on my hip, drawing me steadily closer to the hard planes of his body. “I think I’ve changed a lot, tiny tornado.” A pause, long and drawn out, same as his eyes tracing down my body. “We both have.” Another tug has me flush against him.
