Page 87 of Tempt Her

As he turns around, my pussy purrs, wanting to rub up on him right here.

His eyes flick down to the giant zucchini I’m clutching in my hand like a substitute for what he’s been denying me, and he grins. “Are you gonna want cream with that too?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” We’re both guilty. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Grabbing a few things to take to Mateo’s parents’ house. They’re throwing a party for Luke.”

I wish I could join them.

I’m confident of how deep my feelings are for Luke and Mateo. They make it clear it’s mutual. Luke holds me like he never wants to leave, and Mateo wraps around me like he’s home.

But Ford is an enigma.

I don’t know where I belong with him. Or if he’ll ever truly let me into the world the three men share.

He kisses me. He flirts and teases. I even get him to laugh sometimes, but you know it when someone is keeping you at arm’s length.

Sure, Ford wants to fuck me. He’s making big plans for it. And that should be good enough, right? He’s sharing “his men” with me and, soon, his body too, but no.

I want more.

I want his heart.

Because he has mine.

Every time I see Ford ride his rage like a bull around Gentry. I know he wants to gore him open… and Ford can. Same goes for Mateo and Luke, but Mateo has a past that won’t let him, and Luke has a future he won’t ruin. But I can tell Ford’s danced with demons, but he tames them for me. Though he wants to kill Gentry, Ford shoves his ego down to help me.

He gestures toward my basket. “You making more muffins?”

“Yeah.” I try not to get caught in his eyes. In the blue mystery of them. “Muffins and a guilty snack so I can ruin the dinner I have to have with Gentry tonight.”

It clenches his jaw.That name.That image.Ford may never love me, but he hates my soon-to-be shit stain of an ex-husband.

“What about you?” I eye the greens and vegetables in his cart.

“I’m bringing the salad tonight.”

“Salad?” I cock my chin. “Well, nothing says goodbye like a bowl full of spinach.”

“It’s for me. Mateo’s mom spoils us with feijoada, a pork and bean stew that’s so good it’ll kill me.”

I laugh at first, assuming it’s a joke, but his grin is too soft. “Youserious?”

“As a heart attack.” His grin drops. So does mine. “What yummy snack is going to ruin your awful dinner?”

He changes the subject, and I shrug. “A pint of Bluebell’s Homemade Vanilla with Utz potato chips for sprinkles.”

His grin returns. “Youserious?”

The impulse to be a smartass with “as a heart attack” fills my mouth, but I bite it back, and “deadly” tastes wrong too.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

His gaze combs my body. “You look too cute to be eating junk like that.”

“Junk?” I’m wearing a sundress, flip-flops, and a sassy scowl. “I’ll have you know, sir, that’s afinesouthern delicacy.”

“Sir?”

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