Page 56 of Second Chance Romance
Okay, screw staying quiet. “I’ll show that bastardcold. Cart his ass to Antarctica in winter, shove his face in some goddamn dry ice, and—”
“I wouldn’t recommend that plan of action, Dean,” she said with a small smile, and offered him her thumb to rub. “First of all, flights and cruises to Antarctica are prohibitively expensive and would require more time off from the bakery than you can spare. Second, once you already had him in mid-winter Antarctica, wouldn’t dry ice be literal overkill? Third, and most importantly: I didn’t believe what he said, even the moment he said it. After being with the man for almost two decades, I recognized what was happening. Rob knew he hadn’t behaved well, so he was getting defensive and trying to relieve his guilt by blaming everything on me.”
He grunted, unappeased. “Still hurt, I’ll bet.”
Dearborn made a noncommittal noise.
Fine. He wouldn’t push her on that point. Especially since he had another nosy-as-hell question he needed to ask.
“Just how big is your damn house?” He rested her left hand on the table. Grabbed her right. Started massaging her palm. “At that price, I’m assuming you live in a goddamn palace, with diamond-crusted potholders and gilded chip clips.”
“Not that big.” A little shrug. “Two bedrooms, one bath. About twelve hundred square feet. Zero potholders decorated with precious gemstones or golden snack-oriented accessories, sadly.”
He gaped at her. Only two bedrooms? For that amount of money?
“Los Angeles housing prices are famously prohibitive, especially when you’re talking about the more in-demand areas.” Her back arched in a stretch that made his mouth dry and thoroughly distracted him from his sticker shock. “My grandparents love me, they had plenty of retirement savings, and the condo they found in Nevada wasn’t nearly as expensive, so they gave me a significant discount on the sale. Otherwise, I never could have afforded their home.”
That explained a few things, but— “If your ex wants kids, why not buy a bigger house?”
Maybe the prick was a minimalist or some shit. But wouldn’t an LA doctor with that kind of selfish audacity demand something more grandiose?
“Good question. Rob’s obsession with the house confuses me, given its size. With kids, things would get very cramped, veryquickly. My guess? He and his fiancée—she’s a doctor too—have big home-reno dreams.” She paused. “That was a genuinely good offer he made. If I were smart, I’d probably take it. Use the profits to move someplace cheaper. Buy a place that’s easier to maintain.”
Her phrasing bothered the fuck out of him. “Youaresmart.”
“Not always.” Her faint grimace wrinkled her nose.
“Always,” he countered stubbornly. “Whatever you choose? It’ll be the right call.”
Exhaling slowly, she extended one leg in front of her. Flexed her sneakered foot. Pointed her toes. Switched legs. “It’s lavender honey, by the way.”
Seemed they were done talking about her house and her ex. Changing gears took him a minute, though. Especially since he kept eyeing her long, thick thighs and wondering how they’d feel as a necklace.
“You saw the damn jar,” he finally managed to reply. “Cheating.”
“I figured it out before I looked at the label. I promise.” She held up her left hand, as if swearing an oath. “Your hints were just that good, Dean. As soon as you mentioned France, I knew.”
Clearly, he’dnailedthat communication crap.
If he were a rooster? He’d be strutting around the barnyard, feathered chest puffed out in pride, crowing loudly enough to deafen all other nearby cocks.
“Teamwork,” he told her, relieved as hell this plan hadn’t gone to shit, unlike the stupid escape room. “Progress.”
She snorted. “Verbs. Missing.”
“Quit busting my chops, Dearborn,” he complained with zero sincerity.
“I would, if it weren’t such fun.” As he began working on herthumb, her smile lingered. “Listen, I have an idea for our next activity.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he looked up. Met her eyes.
They were the fiery blue of an oven’s pilot light. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move. Her scrutiny, blatant and hot, surveyed him top to Croc, lingering on his shoulders, his chest, his own thighs. Her pink tongue darted out and wet her lips.
His throat promptly went dry as overbaked scones.
“I was thinking...” Her mouth glistened, and the sight of it was a taunt. “May I touch you?”
His thoughts had gone real goddamn fuzzy. All he could do was nod, then nod again for no good reason, as all his mental warning sirens abruptly went silent.
