Page 71 of Adoration: Isn't What It Seems (Love Isn't What It Seems 2)

“I miss you already,” I told him softly. He was happy I called, which made me even happier.

“I miss you too,” he told me in his sleepy voice. “Maxim said three more nights of sleep after tonight and you’d be home.”

“That’s right,” I told him. Then we’d go to court, and I’d get custody of him forever.

“Did they read you a bedtime story?” I asked him.

“They did,” I could hear in his voice he was smiling. “But they are not as good at it as you,” he added in a whisper, which made me laugh.

“When I get home, I’ll read you two stories at night so we can catch up,” I promised him.

We said our goodnights and hung up. I glanced down to my ridiculous nightgown. I picked up the one that covered me the most, it was a creamy white baby doll nightgown that rested on the middle of my thighs. Thankfully, it had a matching wrap. I glanced at myself in the mirror and decided I looked as decent as it could possibly be expected with the lack of damn clothes.

I felt like I was on a sightseeing trip on my way downstairs, in search of the kitchen. Each room was greater than the other; it was mind blowing that a human being owned it. It was like a museum. When I finally found the kitchen, I saw a platter full of food. I looked around me, but nobody was here so I went in search of some tea and kettle. I found the kettle, filled it with water and put it to boil and then continued the search for tea. There had to be some tea in this huge kitchen.

I opened another cabinet and found it.

“Voilà,” I exclaimed victoriously as I got on my tippy toes, trying to reach it. “C’mon, just tip over.”

A hand came behind me and scared me to death. I fell behind, against a hard body and I whipped around.

“Jesus, Alexander,” I muttered, my hand on my chest where my heart was beating wildly. “You scared me to death!”

“Sorry,” he apologized and handed me the tea box I was trying to grab.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, my heart still racing.

He must have just taken a shower. His dark hair was still damp. And his chest was bare.

Oh my God, such a defined six pack he had. Fuck, I would have never guessed he was that hot underneath that suit. I knew he was hot, but this was too much. And he did have ink! He had tribal tattoos covering his chest and arms and I wanted to trace all of it with my tongue.

I blinked my eyes at that thought!

What? No. No licking, no touching, nothing with Alexander Caldwell.

“Want some tea?” I offered, my voice breathless. Damn it, what was happening to me?

“I’m not much of a tea person,” he responded. “But I’ll take some coffee.”

“Ok,” and I went to make his coffee and my tea. He sat down and I swore I could feel his gaze burning through me as I fumbled around by the stove. I brought his coffee and sat it in front of him with slightly shaky hands. I sat down too with my tea, my hands wrapped around the mug.

I guess I should be thankful he had pajama pants on.

“Who packed your clothes?” I asked out of nowhere.

His eyebrows shot up, probably wondering at the weird conversation topic.

“I did,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

I nervously looked down myself and noted my wrap was completely untied and I pulled it over again in an attempt to tie it.

“Because whoever packed my clothes,” I told him, “did a horrible job. There is nothing decent for me to wear.”

He chuckled. “Layla packed your clothes,” he confirmed my earlier guess.

“Well, remind me to kill her when we get home,” I mumbled over my mug and took a sip of my tea.

We sat there in silence and I couldn’t quite decide if it was comfortable or not. It reminded me of us sitting in my kitchen after the funeral. Except this time, a peculiar lust was the only emotion I felt. I kept peeking at his magnificent body. Just the sight of him set my body on fire and there was a pulsing ache between my thighs.

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