Page 27 of L.O.V.E

“C’mon.” He stood and made his way to the trash bin. “I‘ll walk you to your car.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I live just around the corner.”

“Then I’ll walk you home.” His hand landed on the small of my back, urging me toward the exit, leaving no room for argument.

Cold, damp air blasted through my too thin jacket. My shivers, though, had nothing to do with the temperature and, shamefully, everything to do with the man holding the door open.

Cole walked me home. We stood outside my building and talked for another half hour, speaking nothing of consequence, sharing friendly banter.

It wasn’t until I entered my apartment that I realized I’d used the front entrance to my building for the first time in ages. And I hadn’t looked over my shoulder all night.

“Thanks for dinner, Nats. That was amazing.” Martin tossed the dishtowel in the sink, hooked an arm around my waist, yanked me flush against his hard body, and doused me with kisses, starting at my cheek, traveling down to my neck, then to my collar bone.

“You’re welcome,” came out breathy and hopeful.

He hovered over my breasts and lifted his eyes to mine, brows quirked in a silent plea for permission.

I lifted my chin, allowing him access.

Warm hands slid under the hem of my blouse, then traveled upward, his thumbs blazing a trail over the lace covering my tight buds.

I ached with need. But it wasn’t Martin’s touch I craved.

He moved one hand to the button of my jeans.

God, how long had it been since a man had made me orgasm?

Martin had yet to get me into bed. We’d started many intense make-out sessions that always ended before the fireworks began. His phone would ring, calls from work. He didn’t have condoms. I had my period. New Year’s Eve had been a dud—he drank too much and passed out on his couch the second we got back from a ridiculously lavish party Ellis had invited us to attend.

Funny thing? I was always relieved.

Still. We had fun, though I never got the feeling I was a priority. His cell rang all hours of the day, and he was often called away at the drop of a hat.

Maybe that’s what I liked about Martin. He wasn’t clingy. And Lord knows, I’d had my fill of clingy men.

But I was a woman with needs, and as he worked my jeans open, then down my hips, I shivered with anticipation, because I was finally, finally going to get some much needed relief.

Martin was attractive for sure. And if he made love like he kissed, I was in for a treat.

He helped me disrobe, then hoisted me onto his counter, the gray quartz cold on my backside.

His khakis had made it to his ankles when his phone buzzed.

Face flushed, he huffed, “Jesus. Fuck. I’m sorry. Gotta take this,” then dropped a kiss on my nose, righted his pants, and left me naked in his kitchen.

Bits and pieces of his conversation drifted my way and went something like, “Yeah. No. No. Not busy. Tonight? Fuck yeah. Does he know? Sure. Sure. I know. I know. No. No. No. Come on. What do you think?” He huffed. “You know that can’t happen. Okay, I’ll be there. Bye. No. Bye.”

Martin found me in the same position he’d left me. He scrubbed a hand through his thick hair. “So sorry. Have an emergency flight to Georgia.”

“Tonight?”

He stepped between my legs, pulling me against his arousal. “Be back day after tomorrow. We’ll go somewhere special.”

“Sure.” I shoved him away before he could claim my mouth, then dropped to my feet.

“I’m sorry, Nats. It’s my job. I’ll make it up to you.”

“No worries. Really.” On with my jeans.

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