Page 3 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

Her pause allows me to breathe, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead while I wait for her response. Sweat dots my brow because I know Jamie’s perspective isn’t like my own. We come from two different backgrounds. “Do you remember when you came to my office the first time all those years ago?”

Walking down memory lane isn’t what I anticipate her response to be. Wetting my lips, I say, “Yes.”

“You’ve accomplished a lot since then.” The statement is one I’d usually be reveling in considering Jamie rarely passes out praise. “I know you have a lot more success in you, but you need to stay on track for that to continue. Do you understand?”

I understand that I’m screwed—that I’m about to let her down. I consider her more than an agent. She’s like a second mother to me. One who helps me achieve every dream I have no matter the size and is proud of me for making something of myself despite the odds.

It isn’t what I answer. “Understood.”

I know there isn’t a smile on her face, but certainly a victorious glint in her dark eyes. “I’ll let you get back to work. Oh, and be on the lookout for something in the mail this week. I was sent mock-ups of the movie posters that will be used for promotional material. In fact, the publisher wants to use the same image for the new book covers. You should receive it in the next few days. Otherwise, let me know if there’s anything you need from me.”

All I can think is, a miracle.

Chapter Two

Corbin / Present

A soft hand gripping my hard cock stirs me from a deep sleep, causing me to groan as it moves up and down in torturous strokes. My lips part as I arch my hips, seeking more. Half asleep, I reach out to the person responsible. Caressing smooth skin, I notice the slightest curve of lean feminine arms.

“Fuck, baby. That feels good.”

“Mm. I missed you too, handsome,” an accented voice purrs back at me.

Eyes shooting open, I jerk away from the wafting scent of seawater and jasmine—the combination u

ndoubtedly belonging to my wife. The one whose finger I put a ring on when I had no right to. She might’ve been what I needed at the time, but I knew I was fucking up. Kinley was the only woman I should’ve ever put my ring on.

Sitting up, the sheet covering me drops to reveal my naked body. Lena’s blue eyes flash with appreciation, landing on the way my cock tents the thin material barely covering it.

“Jesus Christ, Len.” She’s kneeling on the side of the bed she used to occupy, dressed in her favorite floral maxi dress she bought in Greece a few years back. The amount of cleavage shown always gets her attention when she wears it out. And she does. Often.

Her painted bottom lip sticks out. “Why do you sound so angry?”

Blowing out a breath, I scrub a palm down my scruffy jaw. “I’m not angry, you just surprised me.”

She reaches out and brushes hair from my forehead, letting it tangle in her tan fingers. I can tell she’s noticed how long it’s grown. “You need a haircut. Want me to schedule you one?”

“I’m fine.”

Her brow quirks. “You’re not.” Before I can stop her, her hand grazes my morning wood again. I jerk in her palm as she cups me. “Let me relieve your stress. It’s the least I can do after being gone so long.”

It isn’t like being separated from each other is foreign. Out of the six years we’ve been together, and the five and a half spent married, we’ve seen each other in a spattering of weeks at a time. Not months. Weeks.

My eyes drift closed as she removes the sheet, leaving me bare to the cool air. She quickly warms it with the friction of her hand, playing with the sensitive nerves under the tip.

“We shouldn’t…” I’m cut off when her hot mouth wraps around the engorged head of my cock, drawing my entire length in her mouth like she’s far too experienced at doing. My fingers absentmindedly go to the back of her head, but instead of guiding her to the perfect rhythm, I pull her away with a pop of her lips.

“Please stop,” I rasp, throwing the sheets off me and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Reaching for a pair of discarded boxer briefs from the floor, I slip them on before standing and turning to face her.

Her arms cross on her chest. “And you say you’re not angry with me,” she scoffs, sliding off the mattress. “It’s been months since you visited me and my family, and this is how you treat me?”

I sigh, knowing I’m being a giant asshole. Walking over to her, I reach out and rub her upper arms that are toned from the workout schedule she obsesses over daily. “I’m sorry, Len. I don’t mean to be a dick. I just haven’t been feeling well the past couple of days.”

Her eyes soften. “You’re sick?”

Clearing my throat, I step away. “I’m not sure. I think I might just be run down from shooting. Ever since we finished filming, I’ve been a little off. It’s nothing.”

Cringing over the absolute bullshit I’m spewing, I walk into the bathroom to get ready for my day. When Lena appears in the corner of my eye, she studies me with narrow eyes. “Yes, how did the movie go?”

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