Page 14 of Tempted Away

I’m starved for him. Starved for physical affection and intimacy, for more than a quick kiss in passing. The last time we had sex was a little bit lacking in the intimacy department. I want to feel his arms around me, his mouth on mine, his body moving against mine. I want to look in his eyes while he makes love to me.

With a jolt, I realize that it’s been weeks since the last time we’ve been intimate. How did we let this happen? We’ve never gone this long without sex. But instead of waking him, I get up with a sigh. I was asleep when he got home, so I'm sure it was late, and he needs his sleep. It’s still early enough, so I head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The apartment is small enough that I can hear when Quinn gets up and takes a shower. It doesn’t take long before he’s done and striding into the kitchen. My greedy eyes take him in. Dressed in a crisp suit, he’s a far cry from the boy I fell in love with. The gangly boy that wore shorts, his hair perpetually messy, his face streaked with dirt and skinned knees.

“Good morning,” I smile over my shoulder while plating the scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Morning,” he grumbles, reaching over me for a to-go cup.

Lifting up on my toes, I curve my hand around his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss. His lips are warm against mine, but all too soon to my liking, he pulls away. Disappointment fills me at the feel of the smoothness against my fingertips as they trail over his cheek. Lately, he’s always so polished, never leaving the house without shaving, and his hair gelled to perfection, not a strand out of place. I miss the scruffiness that comes with a few days’ worth of stubble. I would rub my face all over his, joking that I was scent-marking him. He’d roll his eyes, but the gleam in his eyes told me he loved it.

“I didn’t hear you come in. Was it very late?”

He turns his back on me, filling his cup with coffee. “Around midnight or so,” he says, speaking directly to the coffee maker.

“I made some breakfast.”

He turns back to me, and the guilty look crossing his face tells me what he’s going to say before his mouth opens.

“Ten minutes, Quinn.”

“It’s ten minutes I can’t spare. If I do, I’ll be late for a meeting.”

“Since when has work become so important that you can’t even spare ten minutes to have breakfast with your wife.”

“Please don’t start. I’m tired, late, and I don’t have time for nagging.”

My head rears back as if he’s slapped me. Nagging? How can he accuse me of nagging? I’ve always, always been supportive of his work, never complaining about his hours.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Nagging. Is that what it’s called when your wife wants to spend some time with you?”

He blows out a breath. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” He steps up to me and folds me into a hug. I take a deep breath, trying to the familiar scent of him calm me down, but it’s not working.

“I’ll make it up to you. How about we go out for breakfast on Sunday?” His chest rumbles against my ear with his words, but instead of those words making me feel better, it makes my muscles tighten and my jaw clench. I don’t want him “making up” anything to me, and I don’t want him humoring me either. I want my husband back the way we were before.

I pull back, stepping out of his embrace.

“Fine.”

Grabbing both plates, I throw them in the sink. I watch in satisfaction as pieces of egg fly everywhere.

“Come on, Bailey, don’t be like that.”

Not sparing him another look, I turn to our bedroom.

“You’d better hurry. You’re going to be late for that meeting.”

I almost hope that he’ll follow me, that we don’t part like this, but he heaves another sigh, and a minute later, the slam of the front door echoes through the apartment.

*****

QUINN

THERE’S Asoft tap on my door. Looking up, Justine’s standing in the doorway, smiling.

“Hey,” I murmur, sitting back and returning her smile.

“I’ve gone over the marketing material. I’ve highlighted a few areas that you may need to take a look at, but it mostly looks good. It’s in your inbox.”

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