Page 88 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
My mouth twitches…along with my cock, but I focus. Never do I want her to be uncertain how much I appreciate her. “Thanks for making whatever delicious concoction is in the crock pot.”
Pink on her cheeks. “It’s just chicken chili.”
“Not just.”
A shake of her head, dismissing the words. But I’m not going to stop appreciating her, not going to risk fucking things up between us.
“You hungry?” she asks quietly.
I’m starving.
Just not for food.
I’m starving for Faye—ravenous in my need to hold her, kiss her, fuck her.
But even more intense than that is…
The need to know every part of her.
“What were you working on?”
Her cheeks flare red. “Edits for the book I turned in a couple of months ago.”
“What’s this one about?” We’ve discussed the project she finished the night of the fire, along with the book she’s just beginning to plot. But this is the first time she’s mentioned edits for a previous novel.
Her eyes slide away. “A guy and a girl falling in love.”
I lift my brows in question. Because that’s the most bland description I’ve ever heard—she’s passionate about her books, her work. I heard that at the baby shower, during our nights on the couch when we’ve done nothing but watch movies and cuddle and talk.
To equate this project to just a guy and girl falling in love…
Yeah, now my curiosity is seriously piqued.
“Why are you being shy?” I ask lightly.
“I’m just hungry.” She takes my hand. “Let’s go in and eat.”
I draw her closer. “Is it because it’s about me?” Her body jerks and I chuckle, stroking my fingers down her spine. “Oh, Red. This is the one about me, isn’t it?”
Part of me expects her to back down, to keep playing shy, but to my shock—and pleasure—her chin comes up, a recalcitrant set to her jaw. “So what if it is?”
Something strange happens in my chest—fear, pleasure, and…an intense, all-encompassing curiosity. “Red.”
She studies my face…and then I get a glimmer of the confident, sexual, proud woman whom I’m falling for as she brushes her lips over mine, moves out of my arms, and sits back down in her chair.
She opens her laptop.
And begins to read.
“What are you doing here, Josie?” he demands as he strides across the empty locker room, his face a frightening mix of curiosity and need.
I straighten my shoulders, hold my ground, even as a glimmer of fear coils in my belly.
“You left before we got to the good stuff,” I murmur as he comes close, the heat and strength of his body the most sinful temptation.
“There was a reason for that, baby,” he rasps, his hand settling on my hip, scalding hot through the fabric of my clothes. “I can’t control myself when I’m around you.”
I press closer, my breasts against his chest, my thighs flush with his.
