Page 72 of Casita Casanova
Ridge
Ten minutes pass before I can safely stand and gather up Maryn’s things. I pile everything into the bag, shake out the towels and drape them around my neck, then grab the wine cup and drink it as I head up the stairs to Maryn’s backyard.
“It’s time. I’m done fucking around.
This woman wants me. I want her. There’s no reason to pretend any longer.
We’re just wasting time as we catapult toward the inevitable.
When I reach the top step and enter Maryn’s backyard, the music carries to me through the trees.
My girl is dancing.
Smiling, I make my way through the yard, then pause at the steps and set everything down. I clear the back porch in one large stride, stepping into the kitchen and nearly dropping dead on the spot.
She’s still dressed in only her bikini, swaying her hips as she moves around the kitchen, a glass of wine in one hand and the other stretched up over her head.
“Fuck me,” I whisper. She knew I’d be right behind her. Knew I’d come here and see her like this.
She spins around, jumping at my presence, I think maybe she could feel me the way my body senses hers.
Maryn grins, pointing at the black box to her left. “What’s that?” she yells over the Salt-N-Pepa song blasting from the built-in speakers in the ceiling. I stalk toward her and she steps backwards until the counter blocks her from further escape. Not that she wants escape. I cage her in my arms, then reach past her for the cellphone, pausing the music.
The only sound now is heavy breathing.
Could be hers. Could be mine.
My cock throbs, swollen with the desire she ignites in me. I push my hips forward and press it into her, smiling as her eyes roll back a bit.
Pointing behind me, I say, “That is a Kegerator.”
“A what?”
“It’s a Kegerator. A Keg refrigerator.” I step backwards and give her some space. The disappointment on her face fills me with pride. “We’re going to practice.”
Focusing on the mini fridge, her brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
I shrug, then reach for the pint glasses I brought home from Fast Lane. “Pour me a glass.” I hold a pint out to her and she looks back and forth between me and the keg.
“Cas…”
I step toward her, then grab her hand and wrap it around the glass. “Pour me a glass, Maryn. I’m thirsty.”
Her brows furrow. “Did you buy this?”
“I made it.”
Her eyes search mine. “For me?”
I nod.
“Because I kept spilling at work?”
I nod again. “Practice makes perfect.” Shrugging, I motion toward the machine. “Dying of thirst here, lady.”
That smile I’m falling in love with spreads across her lips, then she turns around to pour me a beer, and I’m left with the fact that I just had a terrifying fucking thought.
Because I don’t fall in love. Not with a woman and not with her smile.
