Page 101 of The Homemaker
I ball my hands at my sides to keep from touching him because he’s not mine.
“Callen. Your boyfriend. Ihatehim.”
I lift my gaze. “Well, fuck what you think, because I want to kill your perfect fiancée.”
Murphy smirks before ducking his head and brushing my cheek with his scruffy jaw until I feel his breath at my ear. “Now that we’ve cleared the air, unbutton your dress.”
My insides liquify under the heat of my skin. I know better. So does he. Did I survive death and a mental breakdown only to destroy another woman’s life?
No.
Still, I unclench my fists and slowly work the buttons of my dress, stopping just above my navel, chest heaving with impossibly hard breaths as Murphy’s lips brush along my neck, not kissing, just touching. Then they feather along the swell of my breasts to the edge of my satin and lace bra.
Wetting my lips, I part them on a heavy blink.
His mouth hovers over my nipple on the outside of my bra. My fingers ache to dive into his hair.
“God…” I seethe, smacking my hands flat against the door when he bites my nipple and gives it a firm tug before sucking it just as hard. My knees collapse inward, and I swear I’m a breath away from orgasming just from that.
He doesn’t move his hands from the door, not one touch beyond his lips and teeth. After releasing me, he repeats the same thing with my other nipple.
I hiss. It hurts and feels good at the same time. My eyes pinch shut, each breath harsher than the one before as I arch my back. He lifts his head, our lips so close to touching that I feel like his last breath is my next.
“Button your dress and get back to work,” he whispers, letting his hand slide down the door to open it.
I gasp a silent breath and step away from the door so my back is to him. Closing my eyes, I button my dress and wait for him to leave. When I hear the sliding door, I fall towardthe sink, hands on either side, holding me up. The pink-cheeked reflection in the mirror is unrecognizable. She’s not me.
I wouldn’t let another woman’s fiancé do that to me.
Would I?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Alice
If Hell exists, there’s a waiting list.
Karma is Vera.Tonight they are one and the same. She invites my mom and me to join everyone for dinner—the dinner I make, of course. And “everyone” includes Murphy’s mom.
I’m a dirtyhomemakinghome-wreckingwhore hidden behind a blue floral house dress and an apron that’s been in the Morrison family for years.
“This is weird. I knew it would happen, but it’s still weird,” I say, whisking the Dijon dressing. I’m not sure I made it with the right ingredients. I’m meeting Murphy’s mom tonight and my thoughts have gone to shit.
“What’s weird?” Mom asks with a laugh while cutting thesourdough bread.
“We’re having dinner with the people who hired me to serve them dinner. It’s weird.”
“It’s a meal. They seem to adore you. Just think of it as your house, and you’ve invited them to dinner. Then making and serving the meal won’t seem so weird.”
I nod. She’s right. That’s a better way to look at it. Of course, it won’t help my nerves when I see Blair, Murphy, and his mom seated at the table. It’s like Blair or his mom will see it on my face and instantly know that he had my nipples in his mouth earlier today.
“Jesus, it’s hot in here.” I wave a hand over my face.
“It’s not that hot. Are you getting sick?” Mom asks.
If only.
“No. It’s probably just standing over the stove too long. Here. Let’s serve our guests.” I hand her two small salad plates.
