Page 69 of Masked Seduction
His life is too full. No room for more.
I can’t help but wonder if that includes me.
I look away.
Abram’s words keep echoing in my head…then come home and have my own space.
That isn’t very promising for the whole “Hey, surprise, I’m carrying your child” conversation I’m supposed to work up the courage for tonight.
I can feel Abram watching me.
“You okay?” he asks, quiet and careful. He knows something’s up.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re not a great liar,” he says with a little smirk. “You’re staring off into space.”
I force a chuckle. “Guess I’m just tired. Long week.”
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t buy it, but he lets it go. He gets up and starts clearing the plates, moving with that infuriating sex appeal, even when doing something as ordinary as rinsing dishes. Seeing him like this, in a domestic and homey setting, makes my chest ache.
He returns a minute later, carrying two dessert plates and a cocky grin. “Olive oil chocolate mousse,” he says as he sets one in front of me. “With blood orange and Maldon Sea Salt flakes.”
My eyes widen. “This looks amazing.”
“Desserts are my thing,” he says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal. As if this man isn’t already too good to be true.
I take a bite and holy hell—it’s divine. Deep, dark chocolate. Silky texture. The citrus hits next, bright and sharp, followed by the crunch of sea salt like a little surprise party on my tongue.I moan before I can stop myself. And then I devour the whole damn thing like I haven’t eaten in a week.
When I finally come up for air, I notice his plate’s only half-touched. He’s watching me, amused and a little turned on.
I groan. “That was not cute. I just blacked out and inhaled that like a woman possessed.”
He leans in, reaches across the table, and wraps his hand around mine. His touch is warm and grounding, and it sends a little flutter through me. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I love seeing you enjoying what I make. Never be embarrassed about that.”
I try to look away but he holds my gaze.
“Don’t ever feel like you have to shrink yourself,” he says. “Not your appetite. Not your laugh. Not your body. Not one damn thing.”
My breath catches.
“I want you satisfied. Always.”
Something stirs deep inside me—a mixture of lust, longing, and once again, something dangerously close to love. For a brief moment, any fear I had fades away.
Abram clears the table while I savor the last bit of that wicked mousse still lingering on my tongue. A moment later, he returns with a drink in hand. It's citrusy and herbal, served in a rocks glass with a fat slice of orange.
“Ginger, lemon, chamomile,” he says, handing it to me. “Helps with digestion. And stress.”
I give him a soft smile. “What doesn’t this man do?”
He chuckles.
We settle onto his sleek charcoal couch. The lights are low, the city glowing beyond the glass like it’s putting on a show just for us. I sit close. I want to be near him, but my body feels split—half desperate to melt into his arms, half aching for the quiet safety of being alone.
I thought maybe I’d be able to tell him tonight. Rip the bandage off, like Claire said to. But now, curled up next to him on his sofa, with the weight of it all pressing on my chest, I know I can’t. Not yet.
He glances at me, eyes dark. “I wanted to tear that dress off you the second I saw you walk through the door,” he says. “Still do. But I can tell that’s not where your head is tonight.”
