Over the girls’ hushed giggles, Momma glared at her husband. “Little Nash is one of your daughter’s best friends and the sweetest boy. Even if he weren’t, I’m not sure it’s any of your business, dear. Rory is a grown woman with children of her own, and she’s perfectly capable of makin’ her own decisions.”
While Daddy threw up his hands and grumbled about having all girls and how it’d give him a heart attack sooner or later, Momma shot Rory a wink, and the tiny part of her that’d faltered earlier righted itself. Her momma’s words in the kitchen might not have been intended for her, but they’d come at the perfect time, regardless.
She’d swept aside so many interests and hobbies, all because her daddy wasn’t a fan. All because he’d told her it wasn’t good enough for her—good enough for a Haven. A brief memory flickered through her mind, of her ballet recital—her momma and Gran in the front row, her daddy nowhere to be seen…
Twenty-five years too late, Rory tucked away those words and let them settle deep in her heart, because she was so tired of listening to everyone else’s thoughts on who or what she should be.
It was time she started listening to her own.
Nash glanced around the barren front yard as he strolled up to Rory’s door. If his calculations were correct, Ava and Ella were at their dad’s house, which meant he and Rory would be all alone for the first time in way too long. Never mind that “way too long” had been only days, or that he didn’t get antsy to spend time with women. He got in, got off, got out.
But it wasn’t like that with Rory… Never had been. No matter how many times he was with her, how many days and nights they’d spent together, he still hadn’t gotten his fill. At this point, he wasn’t sure he ever would.
After climbing the steps, he knocked twice on the door and waited for her to answer. By the noise coming from inside the house, he doubted she’d even heard. Instead of hollering through the screen to get her attention, he tried the handle…and cursed under his breath when the door came open without issue. How many times had he been on her to lock the damn thing?
Tossing his keys on the side table next to the couch, he followed the…well, singing was too nice of a word for what was happening right now, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate caterwauling, so he’d go ahead and keep that term to himself.
Rory stood in the kitchen with her back to him, stirring something on the stove and belting a song playing from her phone. He cringed as she attempted to hit a particularly high note. SweetJesus, the girl was as tone deaf as a barn door. But even with his ears ringing, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face or tear his eyes away from her.
She was completely and utterly lost in the moment, and he knew, without a doubt, this was pure, undiluted Rory. How many other people had ever gotten the privilege of seeing her like this? If his gut was right, he’d say exactly zero.
Somewhere along the line, Rory had decided she needed to put on a show for everyone and shove that gorgeous, firm, smartass, belligerent, determined woman she really was into the shadows. He didn’t want her in the shadows, though. He wanted her right here, just for him.
He came up behind her and slid his hands around her waist at the same time he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.
She screamed and jumped, jerking away from him as she spun around, wielding her sauce-covered spoon like a weapon. Her eyes were wild and crazed, her stance saying she wasn’t there to fuck around. If anyone could incapacitate an intruder with a kitchen utensil, he had no doubt it’d be Rory.
When her eyes locked on his, her shoulders relaxed a bit. “Nash? What thehell! Why do you insist on sneakin’ up and scarin’ the ever-loving daylights outta me? What iswrongwith you?”
He let his gaze dip, his smile growing when he saw the catastrophe of her shirt. Tomato sauce splattered in clumps over the white cotton. “I seem to have a knack for scarin’ you and gettin’ you all dirty because of it.”
She glanced down, her mouth pulling into a frown when she saw what was there. “Dammit, that’s another of my shirts you’ve ruined.”
He stepped into her and pulled the spoon from her grasp, set it on the counter, and placed his hand on the small of her back. “Technically, it’smyshirt, and I’ve got a whole drawer of ’em at my place if you want another.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks, as if she were embarrassed by getting caught in his clothes. He fucking loved that she wore it so much, that she seemed to enjoy being in it as much as he enjoyed seeing her in it. Truth was, the only thing sexier would be heroutof his shirt.
“What’re you doin’ here?” she asked.
“Well…” He tugged her forward until their bodies were nearly flush. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab something for supper.”
She tipped her head toward the stove behind her. “I made spaghetti.”
He leaned down and licked a tiny splatter of tomato sauce off her neck. “I can see that. Tastes good…though maybe that’s just you.” His voice came out low and deep, a barely restrained rumble of need. For her. For her touch and her body and her breathy moans in his ear.
Before he could tug her even closer, she halted him with a hand on his chest. “Wait. You’re gonna get all dirty, too.”
He pulled back enough to shoot her a devilish grin. “I sure as hell hope so.”
She rolled her eyes, though her cheeks burned even brighter. “I meant your shirt, Casanova.”
“This one?” He fingered the hem of his shirt that she wore, sliding his hand back and forth, brushing his fingers against her bare stomach.
Her breathing quickened, her eyes taking on the dreamy, half out of her mind glaze he’d come to love. Tentatively, she slipped her hand under the hem of his shirt, her fingers pressed flush against his abs. “I meant this one, actually.”
Careful to keep their chests from touching, he leaned in and brushed his lips along her neck, smiling when she craned it to one side to give him more room. “I have a solution for that, you know.”
“What’s that?” Her hand slipped down his stomach until it notched in the waistband of his shorts, her fingers curling around the material, nearly touching his straining cock.
