I think about Jamie leaning over to let out a fart on the sofa last night and scrunch my nose. “You’re right. I guess itdoesbuild character.”
His eyes crinkle as he stands, planting a kiss on my head that makes my insides go wobbly. “Relax. I’ll fetch dessert.”
“I’m going to freshen up, if that’s okay?” Which is etiquette-speak forcheck if these crotchless knickers are still positioned in a way that will give you a heart attack when you find them.
“Main bathroom’s up the stairs, beside my bedroom.” His voice drops slightly. “Which you already know.”
I swallow, nodding as I turn toward the staircase.
Upstairs, I hesitate. The main bathroom is right there.
But his bedroom door is slightly ajar.
I peek inside.
It’s still as manly and intimidating as I remember, the sheer scale of the bed making my pulse quicken.
I bite my lip, heat prickling at my skin, already imagining sinking into those sheets again. The previous crimes? Long forgotten.
I look around the room and smirk.
Time to get this party started.
After all, I didn’t squeeze myself into these crotchless knickers just to appreciate his Wellington—no matter how perfectly tender it was.
CHAPTER 31
Edward
I return to thedining room with the dessert—a Vegan Opera Cake, crafted by someone who isn’t me. My culinary ambitions ended with dinner.
But as I step through the doorway, I nearly drop the bloody thing straight onto the rug.
Because Daisy . . . Daisy is sitting in my chair.
At the head of the table.
Wearing nothing but my doctor’s coat.
My grip tightens around the dessert platter until my knuckles turn white.
The stark fabric, so synonymous with professionalism, is now draped across her bare skin, repurposed into something entirely indecent.
Barely-there lace peeks from beneath the hem, teasing at what little she’s chosen to keep on. And around her neck, hangingwith casual audacity, is my stethoscope. Resting right between those full, exquisite breasts, grazing soft, pink nipples.
The coat falls just enough to reveal, but not enough to fully expose her cunt. A blatant tease.
And that smirk. Christ.
It’s the expression of a woman who knowsexactlywhat she’s doing.
“Hello,” she purrs, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, like a queen making herself comfortable. “I heard you called for an emergency home visit.”
“Daisy.” It comes out more like a growl than a word. I set the cake down on the table.
Her gaze meets mine, alight with mischief, and I feel it like a spark catching.
With infuriating slowness, she uncrosses her legs again.
