Page 119 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
My cheeks feel impossibly hot.
And I know they have to be bright red.
But I don’t back down from the curiosity in his eyes?—
“Tell me,” he commands.
Or the order.
“I should refuse that, just on principle alone.”
He grins. “You know there’s no getting out of it now. You opened the can and the worms are escaping.”
“I’m not sure that’s how the idiom goes.”
“I’m sure you’d know,” he teases. “But quit trying to distract me.”
“Gray—”
He bends and kiss me, not stopping until I’m limp against him, my body flush against his rigidly muscled form. My lungs work in overdrive, but he’s steady, confident…
Overconfident, his eyes lazy and half-mast.
“What do you need to confess, Red?” he asks quietly, and even as I try to summon some outrage for his cockiness, the orders, he strokes his hand along my side, dipping his fingertips beneath the hem of my shirt.
I shiver, his roughened fingertips the sweetest abrasion.
Distracting me.
Especially when his next question is as silky as his caresses.
“Tell me,” he murmurs against my earlobe.
“I saw you and Courtney through the window,” I blurt.
Holy shit.
I did not just say that.
I push against his chest, but he just bands his arms around me and holds me tight.
“Uh, we should keep moving,” I say quickly. “Maybe I can find?—”
He touches my cheek. “You saw Courtney and me doing what?”
Oh, dammit, there go my cheeks again.
I stare down at the ground, tap my foot on the charred blades of grass. “Hello? This is the time for you to open wide and swallow me up.”
He chuckles then cups my cheek, eyes coming to mine, “Tell me, Red?”
And…ugh. I started this.
So dumb. Why am I bringing up Courtney when he’s finally moving past her? And worse, doing it in a way that has me looking like a sick freak who peeps on people minding their own business.
“Um…”
“Red,” he says again, tugging lightly at a strand of my hair before tucking it behind my ear.
