“Since he fucked up, maybe it’s his job to make sure she wants to.”
I knew I shouldn’t ask. I knew it. But something about this man had been making me do what I shouldn’t since I met him. “And what should he do?”
Targen’s eyes dropped to my mouth and desire licked through me despite the fact that he hadn’t even touched me. When his gaze lifted again, I could see the humor and heat, like he already knew I was in over my head and was enjoying watching me squirm.
“Well, first, this hypothetical husband should let his wife be mad. She got a right to be,” he said softly.
I folded my arms tight beneath my breasts. Hell, I needed something to do with them before I reached out. “Lether? How generous of him! What does this pillar of manly virtue do next?”
He ignored my tone and took another step toward me. My hand lifted, pressed against the base of my neck. Whew, the AC must have cut off!
“He apologizes right.”
I frowned. “What does ‘right’ mean?”
“It means he looks her in the face and says, ‘I was wrong. I hurt you. You ain’t deserve that.’”
His voice was so low and sexy. That plus his actual words caught me so off guard that I forgot to hide it. His mouth curved when he noticed.
“What? Why you smiling like that?” I asked sharply.
“Nothing.” His eyes said something else, though.
I rolled my eyes, but my heart had picked up its rhythm in my chest. To cover it, I said, “Okay. So, what? He apologizes. She still mad.”
“She probably is,” he admitted.
His fingers brushed the side of my waist lightly. So lightly that I almost convinced myself I imagined it. I went still. Almost like I was waiting to see if he would touch me more. Almost like I wanted him to.
“And then?” I sounded breathless.
He bent closer to me, stopped when our lips were an inch apart.
“And then, he don’t stop at showing her he listens. He gotta show her he sees her,” he murmured.
“How…” I swallowed. “How does he?”
That same smile tilted one corner of his lips, just below the longest scar.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
But he was being flippant. He stepped back, let his gaze move deliberately around my office, around the evidence that he listened to me, saw the writer in me.
“You’re the writer. Show that he knows what she likes. Like sunlight when she works. Like purple pens and journals and pretty shit, but useful pretty shit.” His eyes came back to mine. “I’on know. I believe in you. You’ll figure it out.”
I swallowed. “Maybe he’ll come across as nosy.”
“I know mymilayais more skillful than that. Maybe he’ll come across as paying attention.”
His hand moved again, grazing my side as he shifted even closer. My pulse spiked. I really was too young for these hot flashes. He reached up then, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to and tucked a loose curl behind my ear. His fingers skimmed the shell of it on the way down. I sucked in a sharpbreath. My husband…Targen, I corrected silently, smiled at me. So devastating. I coughed.
“So what?” I pressed, trying to ignore the way this man had heat spreading through my body, pooling in my center. “He apologizes. He tells the truth. He listens and watches. That doesn’t mean she’s ready to accept everything.”
His fingers trailed from my waist to my hip, and just as I leaned into it, he moved away. I swear, he made me sick! “You right. He can’t force her to accept him. But he can be patient, keep trying to show her he’s worth it, thattheyare worth it.”
Those fingers came back, stroked against my cheek, my jawline. I swallowed again. Why was the air so thick in here all of a sudden? I made a face.
“You want my book to flop? That’s not spicy,” I scoffed.
