She bites her lip, hugging her prized possession tight to her chest.
I’m too tired to be patient, and I flash her an overly stern look usually reserved for my misbehaving nephews.
The look only inspires her to tighten her grip. “I don’t know where you got the idea that you can boss me around, but I’m sorry to report, surgery or not, I still have personal autonomy.”
“Seriously, Aulie—” I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“It’s annoying when the patient doesn’t listen, isn’t it?” She quirks a brow, her renewed sparkle glimmering in her irises.
It is. But there were times this summer when Aulie got me to do what she wanted, no matter how opposed I was. If only I knew the trick…
Flashes of when I complied come to me in painkiller-hazed moments. Aulie’s bare arms and a silk tank top with lace scream through clear as day. Her lips contorted into a beautiful pout she always wore when frustrated with me.
Ah. So that’s what it was.
The whole, I’d do anything for you, lovesick puppy thing.
I glance down at Aulie, whose fingers are running over her lips, her stare narrowed on my mouth.
Aulie said she loved me in the car a few days ago, but there’s no way she meant it. She was just on a lot of drugs and had a harrowing day, that’s all. Because someone like her doesn’t fall for a guy like me. She’s too good.
But maybe we’re not as far off in the feelings department as I always thought—if she feels half of what I do, this may work. Might as well test the theory, anyway.
“I’ll have to resort to more powerful measures,’ I say with a slight upward tug on my lips and a shrug. “Just remember you made me bring out the big guns.”
“I can handle the big guns.”
God, I hope not.
“Suit yourself,” I say, walking back to the bed. I bend down, slowly peeling off my pants, making a show of it and ensuring Aulie gets an unobstructed view of my ass in my boxer briefs. Stretching up, I grab the folds of my shirt, like they’ve had me do so many times in the soap ads, before getting into the shower. Deliberately, I pull the shirt over my head, feeling my muscles stretch and contract with the movement.
“What—what—are you—” The quiver in Aulie’s voice gives me hope her feelings may be stronger than I ever dared to hope.
After five years of thinking everything was unrequited and only recently realizing she had some attachment to me, this—god, this feels good.
Reaching over, I grab my glasses from the nightstand and put them on before pivoting back to her. Narrowed on her face and intent on my mission.
“Oh, come on, that’s not bringing out the big guns. That’s just playing plain dirty!” she squeals as I prowl closer to her.
“You know I don’t play clean, kitten.”
Her back hits the bookcase. Her agenda book is still clutched tightly to her chest.
I lean in, caging her with my body, careful not to bump against her still-bloated stomach.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say, my tone suggestive and alluring. Raking a hand through my hair, I peer at her beneath my lashes, hoping that the look and charm I’ve perfected for photos and other PR-related things works here, too.
Her mouth slackens.
With a glacial pace, I inch toward her lips, reveling in the way her breathing quickens as I get closer.
Finally, our lips brush, and Aulie relaxes into the kiss like my touch holds the key to her relief.
I wonder if she knows I feel the same way. If she can tell that I’m always one swipe of the tongue away from getting on my knees for her, that worshipping her is as natural to me as breathing.
Her body falls limp against mine, and I have my in, slowly plucking the agenda book out of her grasp.
A few seconds later, I search for the strength to pull away from the kiss. Fantasies of taking her against these books have tortured me for far too long, but not tonight. She’s stood long enough, and I need to get her back to bed somehow.
