“Hiya, gorgeous,” Weston whispered, tracing a hand down my arm.
“Gorgeous? I don’t know about that,” I laughed, staring down at my body. “I think I look a little like a swamp goblin. I definitely need a shower.”
“You’re beautiful,” he insisted, pressing a kiss to my forehead before licking at the side of my neck. “And delicious.”
“You also need a shower,” I pointed out. “We are not fit for human company currently.”
“Excellent. I propose more of that shower sharing.” He smirked. “I’m very good at prioritizing the environment.”
My lips twitched as I stared at him, marveling at how amazing he’d just made me feel, and at how content I was, here in his arms. This was the Weston I couldn’t get enough of, the one that was sexy and charming and silly. The man beneath the business suits. The one who could make me feel like the only person in a crowded room with just a look. The one who made sex fun and playful and satisfying like nothing I’d ever known. I laughed unexpectedly at the thought.
“What is it?” he asked, stroking my cheek.
“Nothing,” I lied, not sure how I’d explain it all anyway. “Just…this was a first for me. I’ve never had food sex before.”
He gasped in mock offense. “Who were these men you were sleeping with before me? They’ve truly let you down on all the delightfully naughty ways to use food.”
I knew he was teasing, but his words drove home just how limited my experience really was and how expansive his was. “Actually…Well, you’re only the third man I’ve ever slept with. So there wasn’t exactly a whole lot of experimenting going on.”
He blinked at me, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Really?”
I shrugged. “I had that one long-term relationship in high school,” he nodded, his jaw ticking, perhaps remembering my comment about how and why we broke up, “and then another one in college, and now you. That’s it.”
He nodded slowly. “Sorry, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I mean, you’re…well, frankly, amazing. I know I’ve kept you busy these past seven years, but I find it hard to believe men wouldn’t have been knocking down your door.”
I smiled at that. “Youhavekept me busy, but it’s not like I haven’t dated at all. I’ve just…I’ve been on several dates since graduating from college, but none of those relationships developed to the point where I slept with any of them.”
I wasn’t great at casual flings, so one-night stands weren’t really my thing. But long term came with commitment, and that commitment came with expectations. Something I’d become good at bringing up during the initial dating process. It still surprised me the number of guys my age who were expecting to marry and have children. Once I realized it, I put a halt to the relationship—often taking the easy way out and claiming Ididn’t have enough time to date right now, and it wasn’t fair to him. It was hard enough knowing that had been taken away from me before I had a chance to decide whether I wanted to have children; I didn’t need to be humiliated when the guy broke up with me over it. Been there, have the emotional scars to show for it.
With Weston, things were different. There was already history between us built on years of working together. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be called casual. But it also had an end date. Six months—well five months and change at this point—and then divorce. That’s what we’d agreed on. We were existing in this strange in-between space where what we had was real but fleeting. Maybe that’s why it worked for now.
He bussed his lips against my temple, and for a beat I worried that he’d dig further into the relationships, that he’d ask mewhythey ended.
“Well, all those men missed out. And it’s your exes’ loss for not realizing what a good thing they had while they had it,” he said instead, his words warming a space in my chest. “You deserve the world, Lena. And they were both clearly idiots because you’re perfect.”
I shook my head, laughing lightly, awkwardly, trying my best to hold onto my smile. I didn’t want to talk about this. Not about my exes, and not about how very far from perfect I was.
“And you’re excellent at messy food sex,” he said teasingly.
“That’s high praise,” I said, wrapping my hand around his neck as I dragged him into another kiss, grateful for the subject change. I pulled back, staring into his eyes and telling myself to enjoy these moments. Further down the road, reality wasmarching in, waving the divorce flag, getting ready to tear it all away. All we had was now—so we needed to make the most of it. I cleared my throat. “What culinary delight should we tackle next?”
He hummed, holding me close, letting his hands drift down my back. “I was actually thinking about introducing you to the joys of whipped cream.”
“Well, as long as you’re not trying to roll me in haggis.”
Weston threw his head back and laughed.
20
WESTON
“Fecking hell,” I muttered under my breath, dropping the rest of the mail as I tore open the letter fromHatchett, McBride & Co., Solicitors.
Agnes covered her mouth with her hand while she waited for what we both knew was bad news. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is?”
I scanned the letter, my lips curling back over my teeth as a red-hot flush surged through my veins. The subject line readThe Estate of the Late Peter Kincaid.
“We write on behalf of our client, Mr. Jasper Kincaid, in regard to the above matter,” I said out loud, every word making the fire inside me flame hotter. “Be advised that our client intends to formally contest the terms of the will. We request that no distribution of the estate be undertaken.”
