I grinneddown at my text, wondering if his response would be something like,I’ll have you off in five minutes.Or something equally seductive.
I’d given his reaction this morning a lot of thought and decided there was no point dwelling on it. So what if he didn’t want me wearing his button-down shirt? It was one small thing that meant nothing in the big scheme of things.
I’ll meet you at your place.
Okay, not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but he was meeting me. That was better than no response at all. Grinning, I locked up the shop and headed to my Jeep, waving at Remi as he drove by in his squad car.
In a matter of minutes, I was home, not thinking of anything other than the skimpy underwear I had on, and what his reaction would be when he saw it. I uncorked a bottle of red, pouring two glasses, then carried them into the living room to set the mood.
Just as I was debating whether or not I should slip off my heels, the doorbell rang.
“On,” I murmured to myself, thinking back to how he described my heels asfuck meheels.
Swinging the door open, I drank in his muscular form—the way his shirt molded to every inch of his skin. How his pants hung on his hips perfectly, emphasizing his ass while also fitting just right.
“Hey, handsome.” I tugged on his hand, instantly pulling him into my body as I pressed my lips to his. My fingers had a mind of their own, working their way up through his thick strands ofblack hair, twisting them just like I did last night when he had his mouth between my legs.
God, I wanted him again.
“I have a surprise for you,” I whispered against his lips.
Groaning, he pulled back, kicking the door shut. “Before we…get to that surprise, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the couch.
Nerves fluttered through my belly at his words. It was never good when a man wanted to talk, but I was willing to push my doubts aside and hear him out.
With a glass of wine in hand.
I took a deep swallow, then pretended everything was normal as I pulled my knees up on the couch and turned to face him. Swirling the wine in my glass, I smiled at him.
“So, what did you need to tell me?”
Shifting uneasily, he picked up his own glass and swallowed a good portion. “It’s actually about this morning.”
“Right, the way you freaked out over the shirt, or the way you made me come on your fingers.”
I was going for bold and fearless. I didn’t want to cry like I nearly did this morning. That would not keep him around for long.
“The shirt,” he said, confirming my worst fears. Staring down into his wine glass, he took a big breath, blowing it out.
My stomach sank even further into the bottomless pit that was quickly forming.
“Listen—”
That was never good.
“When I was in New York, I was seeing someone. We’d been together for several years, and…I thought we were going to get married.”
I steadied myself for the bomb he was about to drop.
He was going back to her.
He was still in love with her.
This was all a mistake.
“Something happened between us, and…” He shook his head, finally looking at me. The devastation in his eyes couldn’t be faked. He was in love with her, hurting and unable to recover, and I was just a distraction.
