“In private we’ll be friends. You’ll have your bedroom and I’ll have mine, as requested.” He shoots me a smile I think he means to be easy, but all I feel inside is a tizzy of nerves I try hard to hide. “Figure we’ll share meals and conversation like roommates do.”
“Like friends.”
“Yes.” Briggs nods. “Like friends.”
I bring my wine to my lips but do little more than wet my lip. Thoughts swirl in my mind one after another. Complications and emotions ride waves of possibilities that make me feel dizzy and unsettled.
That kiss had felt anything but friendly.
Briggs plates the steaks, veggies, and potatoes. He hands me my plate. I follow him to the table. I consider taking the seat opposite him at the six-seater outdoor patio set but decide instead to lower into the chair to his right, adjacent.
“This smells delicious.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not the greatest cook,” I warn, popping a grilled pepper into my mouth. It’s decadently savory. “But I can bake.”
He throws me a wry grin. “Tell me you can whip together a mean peach cobbler.”
“The meanest.” I feel a little lighter. A little bolder. “But wait until you taste my cherry pie.”
His green eyes darken even as something sparks inside them. My own insides twist into a nest of knots at the flash of hunger that deepens his voice. His eyes dip down to my mouth before drifting back to my own eyes. “You’re going to make me cherry pie?”
Why is it suddenly hard to swallow?
“Um…” I do manage to swallow, but nearly choke on my tongue in the process. I cough, clear my throat and shoot a glare at the wry grin he’s now giving me. “If you want cherry pie, I’ll make you cherry pie.”
“I want.”
Good lord this is not going to go well.I’m a fool if I think I’ll come out of this marriage unscathed.
“Ahem.” I clear my throat again. “Tell me more about how this is going to work.”
Briggs shrugs, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “I figure we’ll figure it out as we go.”
“Ah.” I cut into my steak. It’s perfectly cooked. Red and juicy without being raw. I slide it into my mouth and this time there is no restraining the moan. “Oh, my goodness, this is good.”
There is heat in his eyes. Literal. Heat.
Briggs says nothing as he cuts into his own steak.
I chew, swallow, and ask, “Are we free to see other people?”
The man freezes. Every single part of him. Stone stiff. He asks low and with a hint of danger that hasevery single sense I possess on alert, “Is there someone you wish to see?”
My tongue is dry again. I force out, “Not particularly.”
“Why do you ask, then?”
“Just making sure I’ve got the ground rules down. And?—”
“And?” Briggs pushes when I pause.
I shrug. “And that kiss doesn’t say you’re the kind of man who goes long without—” I laugh, but it’s a nervous filler kind of laugh. “You know.”
“Sex?”
My face is on fire. I bet I’d glow under the night sky like a beacon for the creatures of space.
