Page 61 of Love You
When there was no answer she waited. No sense trying again. It’s not like he wouldn’t have heard her in his sprawling seven-hundred-square-foot studio. She had just started to give up and walk away when he came to the door, his hair smooshed as if he’d been sleeping on it.
“Did you bring me more pie?”
“No.” She brushed by him, went inside, and sank down on his ugly corduroy couch. At least the only thing on it today was a crocheted afghan.
He’d actually cleaned. The apartment was spotless. No piles of clothing, no dirty dishes in the sink, no sports gear lying around. There wasn’t even a cobweb in sight.
“Come on in, make yourself comfortable.” He followed her to the sitting area and sprawled out on the chair opposite the couch.
“My husband never had sex with me.”
That seemed to wake him up. “Never? Or not as much as you wanted? Because that’s been a problem for me in the past.”
She stood up. This had been a colossally bad idea. To think someone like him would understand or be sympathetic. . . well, she was just compounding the problem.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He latched on to her arm and pushed her back onto the couch. “Start from the beginning.”
“That was the beginning . . . and the middle . . . and the end.”
“Never?” He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her.
“Exactly twice. The night of our wedding and six months later after I got him drunk and . . . well, you don’t want to know the details.”
“Was he gay?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, did you ask him?”
“No. But there weren’t men as far as I know, he just wasn’t interested in me.”
“Then why the hell did he marry you?”
“I don’t know.” Because she took care of him and all his needs and she was cheap. “The only reason I’m telling you this is to explain the other night and the weird questions.”
“It’s him, not you,” Win said with absolute authority.
“How do you know?”
He looked at her. First her face, then he lingered on her breasts, and his eyes did a slow slide down the rest of her body to her legs, which she’d caught him staring at on the ride to Reggie’s. After he got his fill, he looked again, his gaze so heated it made her toes curl. He reached for her hand and placed it on his lap. “Feel that? That’s how I know.”
She felt a hard ridge pressed against the fly of his shorts and swallowed. He looked into her eyes and lifted a brow.
“For the last couple of weeks, ever since you showed up in my bed, all I’ve thought about was you. Naked. Under me, on top of me, in front of me, any way I could get you. I want you, Darcy. Any man would be crazy not to. So Lewis is definitely crazy—or asexual.”
She swallowed again because she could feel him growing even harder under her hand. “Then why did you turn me away?”
“Because I’m trying to change, become a better person.” His gaze took a turn around the studio and the corner of his mouth tipped up. “I even cleaned.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.”
He brushed her lips with his, kissing her soft as a feather. She wanted more but the sensation of his mouth moving over her like a whisper was hypnotic.
“Are you just being nice to me so I won’t feel bad?” she said, leaning into the kiss so that she was nestled against his chest. She loved the feel of him. Strong and solid.
He got up, closed the shades, and tugged her off the couch. “I’m doing this because if I don’t I’ll probably die.”
She highly doubted that. But she wanted to believe he wanted her and didn’t think he could fake his physical reaction, which felt as real as it got as he pressed into her. And there was no question she wanted him. The yearning was so bad she could feel it in every fiber of her body.
He pulled her halfway to the bed and whispered in her ear, “Take off your dress.”
