Page 112 of Wild Love
I hear him swallow, his body moving as he nods again.
“Stop hogging my wine, Junior.” My hand makes a grabbing motion and the vibration of his deep chuckle rolls through me as he hands it back.
“You saidour lives.”
The wine is full-bodied and bursting with cherries as it spills over my tongue.
“Good listening. Gold star for you.” I nuzzle closer, hinting that I want him to drape an arm over me, but his fingers clamp around the edge of the deck.
“Do you think you’ll stay here in Rose Hill?”
That question has me straightening and turning to assess his profile. “Why wouldn’t I? I have my family, a job that I actually really like—and I’m not just saying that because you’re technically my boss—and a place to live.”
“With a mouse.”
“Scotty,” I correct him, which earns me an eye roll. “My boss overpays me, so I could probably get my own place. A rental maybe.”
I can tell he’s tense. I can tell the post-sex haze has lost a bit of its luster.
I can tell he’s worried about everyone leaving, even though he’d never say it out loud. I don’t think he’d want me to point it out to him, so I reassure him in the best way I can think of.
“Can I sleep at your house tonight?” That question gets his attention, and he turns an unreadable face to me. A light crease forms between his brows, like he can’t quite figure me out.
And that’s good. I like keeping Ford Grant on his toes.
Which is probably why I add, “Main floor guest room. We’ll keep it professional with Cora around.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ROSIE
The problem is,I don’t want to keep things professional. I said it because it felt like a thing you should say when you start fucking your boss. Now, I’m lying in bed wearing Ford’s shirt, food baby forgotten, wishing he’d sneak down the stairs and crawl in with me.
I try to talk myself out of it so many times. We already almost got caught once. But my body doesn’t care—and neither does my heart. I want his hands in my hair, his warm skin against my own.
Which is why I creep through a dark house and up the stairs, keeping to the edges to avoid any creaking that might wake Cora. One peek into her room at the top of the stairs and I see her sprawled like a starfish. My lips curve up at the sight and then I very, very gently shut her bedroom door before padding down to the primary bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway.
The door is closed and no light shines from beneath. Some people might hesitate to march into Ford’s bedroom.
I am not one of those people. I twist the handle and walk right in. His curtains are open and ambient light from outside filters in through the massive windows. The door clicks shuts behind me and I walk across to the king-sized bed. Much like Cora, he is all long, muscular limbs stretched out in the middle.
Unlike with Cora, I don’t turn away.
I press one knee onto the mattress and crawl in his direction. His breaths are deep and the entire bed has a faint sandalwood smell. I think I’d settle for just lying here beside him, breathing him in.
Instead, I kneel at his side. Soaking him in, so relaxed.He looks younger—more carefree—like this.
With one hand, I trail the tip of my fingers over his lips—just like I did that day in the closet. I’d been on the verge of asking him if he ever thought we could be more. It seemed unfair to me in that moment that one of the best men I’ve ever known was standing right in front of me, telling me how valuable I was, and that I couldn’t have him.
But now the only question I find myself asking iswhy the hell not?
His big strong hand flies up, steely fingers wrapping around my wrist. “Rosie.”
It’s not a question. Heknowsit’s me.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing?” he asks from behind closed eyes.
