So I sink to my knees. Not tall now. Humble and small at her feet. “Please, Frankie.”
“Get up.” Her lower lip wobbles. “Getup.”
“Only if we can keep talking.”
I just want to wrap her in my arms and promise her it’s going to be okay.
Fucking hell.
“I’m making one pot pasta. It’s as basic as you can get.” Every word is uttered like a challenge.
I like a challenge.
“Delicious,” I say.
“It’s liable to send you into a carb coma.”
I smile. “Amazing.”
“Get up,” she whispers.
Slowly, I climb to my feet again.
Her gaze softens as I straighten up. And in that moment, even though I know wedoneed to talk, I want to talk about so much, I see another opening.
“Come here,” I say gruffly, pulling her into my arms and picking her up, setting her on the kitchen counter so we’re eye to eye.
“I thought you wanted to talk,” she whispers, her breath hitching as I fit her taut little body right up against mine.
“I do. We will. But I think you might need a reminder of what you liked about me on New Year’s Eve.”
Her gaze drops, reluctantly but not unwillingly, to my mouth. “A kiss doesn’t make everything else go away.”
Even reluctant, the way she says kiss is heady.
I ghost my lips against hers. “I know. But it might help put the rest of it all in context.”
“What context is?—”
I cut her off with my tongue, hungrily re-claiming my wife after three long days of not knowing why she ran out on me.
And after a shocked little beat, she kisses me back.
Not unwilling at all.
This is how I wanted to kiss her that morning.
It’s how I want to kiss her every morning, and every evening.
I want a lifetime of her needy little groans as she gives in, letting me kiss her despite her reservations, because it feels right, it tastes right, and nothing else matters.
CHAPTER 18
FRANKIE
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I give in to Logan’s insistent kisses.
He’s hands down the best kiss of my entire life, and with his arms around me, I can almost forget the rest of the context that looms large and scary beyond this embrace.
