Page 50 of All Mine

“Yeah… but not nearly as much as I liked last night.” His fingers grazed my arm.

“This is crazy.”

“What’s so crazy about it?”

Nineteen

Camden

Lauren’s eyes widened at my question. She sat too far away on the sofa, sure I could reach her arm if I leaned over, but her body pressed up against me became my goal. I’d gotten her to my hotel room, but she seemed more interested in getting me to stop the sale instead of jumping into my bed.

“What’s so crazy is everything going on. How do we switch it all off and have sex?”

“We managed just fine last night.” Memories of last night permeated my every thought, and I needed her again. There was something about Lauren Hart that I couldn’t explain, something that drew me toward her like a moth to a flame, even to its detriment. But those fantasies were futile if she weren’t willing.

Pink crept into her cheeks. “I got lost in the moment,” she whispered.

“Yeah… me too, and getting lost again sounds good.”

“Can you get lost again if it’s planned?”

What on earth was this woman’s marriage like? I leaned over, and tipping her chin up, pressed my lips to hers. The response was almost instantaneous. The electrically charged air between us sizzled. Her soft lips moved against mine. My body responded to her with a primal impulse. But, the point wasn’t to take her right then. I pulled back a fraction of an inch for a moment, her lips remained parted and eyes closed, we breathed the same air.

She sighed.

I stood and gathered the leftovers from the coffee table and maneuvered them into the mini-fridge like a jigsaw puzzle.

Lauren eyed me from the couch.

“Waste not,” I said.

“No, that’s not… It’s just so normal of you.”

“Well, I love leftovers. Order food once, and eat for two or three days.”

“It’s so practical from someone who drives a Maserati.” She stood and gathered the trash.

“It’s a practical Maserati,” I shot.

“Sure it is.”

I sighed. “Not having food is something you never forget. I’m still the same boy who can stretch three ingredients into four meals. Besides, it’s highly efficient not having to worry about what to order next.”

“Do you ever get tired of ordering restaurant food?” She dumped the trash into the bin.

“Are you asking me if I miss home-cooked meals?”

“I am.”

“Sometimes,” I said as I crossed the room and took her hand, and walked back to the couch. I dropped to the cushion, pulling her next to me.

“What was your favorite dish?”

“Meatloaf.” I retrieved the remote without letting go of Lauren’s hand and switched on the television for background noise. “Are you going to make me one?”

“I don’t really cook.”

“You own a bakery.”

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