Page 46 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
“Can’t argue with that. So did you?” I prompt. “Say yes to Paul?”
“No.” She hides her face behind her hands, then peeks over her fingers at me with those batting blue eyes.
She’s a woman…but sometimes she has this lost little girl quality that makes my dick so fucking hard.
Yes, I’m a total pervert.
And the fact she turned down a guy who’s perfectly acceptable boyfriend material—and doesn’t have blood all over his hands—confuses me. “Why?”
“He’s a nice guy. It wouldn’t be right for me to lead him on.”
“You’re not interested?”
“No.”
I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. “I’m happy to hear that.”
She blinks in confusion. “Why?”
If I can’t touch her, I don’t want anyone else putting their hands on her, either. That’s not fair, I know. But no one said life was.
“Honestly, I don’t think he’s right for you,” I say, digging into my food.
Vanessa sighs. “He’s really into Star Wars, has a comic book collection, and loves cosplay. Nothing wrong with it, just not my jam. How’s your dinner?”
“Damn good. Wow… This might be the best gravy I’ve ever tasted.” I level a hot stare on her. “I should marry you.”
She giggles. “Maybe you should. Gravy whenever you want…”
Holy shit, I want a lot more than gravy from Vanessa, especially now that she’s flirting. It’s got to be the wine because this isn’t like her—at least not the her in the office. But she’s letting her guard—and her hair—down with me. It’s another turn-on I don’t know how I’ll ignore.
“Maybe I will.” If her father doesn’t kill me for the mere suggestion. But I really would marry her for her gravy…and all the other things I’ve come to adore about her. But now, I need to take care of her. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”
When her smile fades, I have to dig my fingers into my thighs to stop myself from comforting her. But being this near her for this long has decimated my restraint. If I touch her at all, I’ll drag her onto my lap, lay my mouth over hers, and fuck the consequences so I can fuck her.
“Calmer than I thought I’d be a few hours after having an intruder in my house.”
Because she’s on the verge of being tipsy. “Good. Drink up.”
When I nudge the wineglass a little closer, she lifts it and complies. Her easy acquiescence, along with the sight of her graceful throat working, does something to me, probably because the soft line of her neck leads straight to the swells of her chest, flushed and flashing a hint of cleavage over the V-neck of her T-shirt. And her tits underneath…
The stuff D-cup dreams are made of.
Focus. Her safety comes first.
After swallowing another amazing bite, I clear my throat. “Can you think of anyone who might want to break into your house and why?”
“No.”
“Has Paul given you any reason to think he’s that kind of creep?”
“He’s harmless.”
I suspect she’s right, and that’s unfortunate because the alternative is much grimmer. “Have you had other trouble lately with anyone? Or noticed anything unusual?”
She finishes nibbling a biscuit. “No. It’s been quiet around the neighborhood. The Abbotts next door have been on a cruise. Mrs. Crafton is always here. She sees everything. She mentioned a guy from the gas company coming by this afternoon but?—”
“Did she have any details?” Can it really be a coincidence that a meter reader and an intruder prowled around her place on the same afternoon?
