Page 38 of Casita Casanova
“The salad goes in the bowl,” she says without looking at me.
I chuckle and turn my back to her, then rip into thebaggedCaesar salad. I pour the contents into the bowl, then open two smaller bags that were included and sprinkle croutons and parmesan over the lettuce. I glance over my shoulder and catch Maryn watching me, but she turns around quickly. Smirking, I set the packet of dressing into the bowl and grab it, then turn and walk to her side of the small kitchen. I reach past her and place the bowl on the counter.
Maryn’s body goes rigid.
“Do you have salad tongs?” I whisper, positioning my mouth dangerously close to her ear.
She nods. Her throat bobs on a swallow.
“In here?” I reach my other arm around her, caging her between them as I start to open a drawer to the right of her hip.
She shakes her head, pointing to the right. “That one.”
I nod, close enough to her head that I know the movement stirs her hair and teases her skin with my close proximity. I grab the tongs, then set them into the bowl and step backwards.
Maryn sucks in a shaky breath and I roll my lips together to keep from grinning.
Then she spins around quickly, pinning me with heated brown eyes. The look in them sends a message straight to my cock, which swells, tightening my jeans. “That has to stop,” she says, her voice breathless.
I tilt my head, fighting the urge to adjust myself. “What?
She huffs. “You can’t…” She shakes her head. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“Making the salad? I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Her nostrils flare and I bite back a smug smile. I’ll give her an A+ for effort, but she can’t hide the way her body reacts to me. I glance down at my growing erection. Any more than I can hide the way my body reacts to her.
“Do you want your salad tossed?”
“Cas!”
Chuckling, I step back against the far counter and grab my wine as I resume watching her make dinner.
This is going to be a fun six months.
Speaking of… “Can I use your phone?”
“What?” she answers quickly, as if I’ve caught her lost in thought.
“Your phone? I need to check in with my—” I stop myself. “I left my phone in the cab. I need to get another one sent to me.”
“Sure.” She motions toward the living room without looking at me. “There’s a phone on the sofa table, and a phone book in the drawer.
My eyes widen.A phone book? Have I stepped back in time? Shaking my head, I leave her in the kitchen and set out to find the phone.
Holy shit.
It’s a landline.
I didn’t even know those still existed.
Luckily, I know Beth’s number by heart, though I think it’s the only one I have memorized, save for Dad’s. But that’s no longer in service.
And dead men don’t answer phones anyway.
Chapter Twelve
Maryn
