“I should go.”
Her husband was probably on the other end of that text. Yet I found myself unable to move.
Dede’s head snapped up. “That was rude of me. I’m sorry. That was my daughter.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Just one. She’s twenty-two years old and the love of my life.” The words carried absolute conviction.
Dede must have been young when she became a parent. I waited for her to elaborate, but she lifted her chin, bracing for judgment.
“I am relieved. I thought you were closer in age to my son. He is twenty-three.”
“Is he your only child?”
“He is. Which is why he is determined to be death of me. I have not met more mischievous and oppositional creature.”
“I know what you mean. For twenty-two years and six months, I had a model daughter. A kid who focused on school and followed her mother’s excellent judgment.” She made a facethat was somehow both exasperated and proud. “Now, I’ve got a woman on my hands who makes her own plans and doesn’t bother to share the details of her adult life.”
“We do not control our children, unfortunately.” Chrysanthos’s terrible life decisions had proven this truth repeatedly.
“Damn shame,” she said with a smile.
“Are you happily married?”
Her eyebrows rose. “I’ve been happily divorced for fourteen years.”
“The day we met,” I said. “When your phone rang, you answered withlove of my life.
“That was my daughter.”
I’d walked away from her for nothing.
Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait. Why did you ask me if I was ‘happily’ married?”
“If you are married, then I must work harder for a kiss, yes?”
“Is that right?” Her voice had dropped.
“Yes.”
“And since I’m single?”
I leaned closer. “Then there is no husband to remove.”
I closed the remaining distance, and there was nothing gentle about the kiss. I’d been thinking about this for weeks. Wondering if her lips were as soft as they looked, and if she’d taste as good as I imagined.
She was better.
I slid my hand into her hair—extensions, I realized, but I didn’t care—and gripped tight enough to angle her head back. My other hand found the bare skin of her lower back, pulling her against me.
She made a small sound that went straight to my cock.
Then she bit my lower lip.
A growl tore from my chest, and I tightened my grip on her hair, deepening the kiss. My tongue slid against hers, tasting, exploring, claiming.
She pressed closer, her fingers moving to the back of my neck, into my hair, and every point of contact between us burned. My thumb brushed the underside of her breast, and she made that sound again.
