Page 19 of Marrying the Gardener
But anger serves nothing.
It makes people irrational and sloppy when I must maintain a level head.
At all times.
Forever.
Even during…this. When my tongue is gracing the skin of a man I barely know.
Unlatching my fingers from Kaleb’s hair, I pull back and look at the mess I’ve made of him. Marks dot his throat and jaw, bites and bruises. Glancing at my wrist, I compare the damage, relieved to find that the marks he’s left on me are similar to the ones I’ve managed for him.
He frees a taut breath, so I find his eyes. They’re as half-lidded as they were when he was touching me. Glazed with desire. Heated.Desperate.
Nearly devoid of sense, they display the mostwantI’ve ever seen a mannotact on.
“Sorry.” I brush my fingertips over the half moons I’ve punctured into his bicep. “I wasn’t gentle at all.”
“It’s fine.” His dazed eyes trail toward his arm. “Nail marks are pretty normal during these…sorts of activities. It adds to the realism. Good job.”
Ah, well then. Go me.
“Didn’t it hurt?” I ask.
He scrubs the back of his hand over his mouth and keeps from meeting my eyes. “No. Not in any way that I minded.”
Wetting my lips, I attempt to put some much needed distance between us, forgetting that my dresser is behind me until I bump into the ledge. Glaring at the wood, I decide that this is quite enough practice for one day. I’d really love to take a nap for however much longer we’re supposed to be pretending to partake of these sorts of activities.
Kaleb, however, seems to have other plans.
Curling a finger against the side of my jaw, he resets my attention on him, flattens his palm against the white surface behind me, and murmurs, “Kissing really will be inevitable in this ruse.”
Of that, I am fully aware. But mouths are disgusting. And I am already run dry.
“When was the last time you brushed your teeth?” I ask.
“This morning.” He procures a small tin from his back pocket. “I also have mints.”
Professional, professional.
My nose scrunches. “Did you brush your teethbeforeorafterbreakfast?”
“Both. I brush my teeth before breakfast when I get up and before I leave to go anywhere.”
“What was breakfast?” I ask.
“Instant oatmeal. What was yours?”
“Egg bagel…with yogurt…a banana smoothie…a little bowl of nuts…and some fruit.” My people take good care of me. And I feel ill remembering the horror that crossed Ava’s face earlier.
Kaleb trails his thumb along my jaw before he crunches a mint and returns the tin to his pocket. “Do you prefer if I lead?”
I’d prefer if there were more floors in this building and jumping off my balcony would result in a swift end. But, barring that, sure. He can lead. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t.” He takes my slender wrist in his big hand, slides my fingers up over his shoulder, and closes his eyes. “Bury your nails in me if it helps ground you. I like it.”
My fingers flex at that, and I have to remind myself—for the umpteenth time—that this is a means to an end sort of situation. Kaleb is helping me. For free. If all he gets out of this is some enjoyment, bragging rights, and the high of freeing someone from her family’s clutches, that’s not the worst tradeoff.
It’s not that I want him to suffer.
