“You’re the one who barged into my home,” she says sweetly.
“So you don’t want the ramen?”
Her eyes narrow and then she leans down and considers the label, snagging the one with the egg and pork broth—so noted. “Saving your life with the glass of wine is more than a tradeoff for ramen.”
“Are we ignoring the fact that you made me choke in the first place?”
“Are you really that much of a prude between the sheets that talk of a blow job scandalizes you?”
I snake out an arm, draw her flush against me. “I think you know exactlywhoI am between the sheets, cookie.”
Her lips part, and I feel it then, the way her body melts against mine, the siren’s call of her desire, the memories of naked skin and lush curves and slick,slickheat.
But I didn’t come here for this.
I don’t just want a quick orgasm and to watch her curls bounce as she disappears out the door—or sends me packing.
I want more.
I want to know who she is beneath the confident, stubborn, gorgeous façade.
So, when her lips part, silently inviting me to taste, and her body melts further, plastering all those soft curves against me, I don’t accept the silent invitation, don’t take what’s so clearly being offered.
Instead, I tamp down the need coiled tight in my belly.
When something beautiful lands in your lap, don’t fucking waste it.
I’m not going to.
Not today.
Not ever.
Twenty-Three
Marie
I’min Jace’s arms again.
And I can’t bring myself to care.
Because he’s big and strong and hard—everywhere.
I shift a little closer, arching up, not caring about muffins and ramen or cheese and wine.
He’s better.
The fire we create is better.
He bends down, and I shift closer, readying myself for?—
The kiss on the forehead.
What the fuck?
I blink once, twice, but that doesn’t change anything, and it doesn’t bring his lips to mine. Worse, it gives him time to drop his arms andstep away.
What theactualfuck?
