Page 107 of On One Condition

We stare at each other for a beat before she suddenly shifts in bed so that she’s seated and the sheet is pulled around her chest.

There she goes again. Changing the subject off of her. I can’t help but feel like she’s trying to distance herself from me. I’ve felt like this for the past week or so. She’s suddenly busy when before she made time.

But it’s more than that.

And I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.

“What about you?” she asks, breaking through my thoughts. “What’s on that ten-year plan of yours?”

Shit. I’d forgotten I’d mentioned that to her a while back. I shrug. “It’s just goals, timelines, things I want to accomplish.”

She nods. “Like . . .”

“Like moving into the Asian market, which we’re currently in contract on a new project. Like getting a write-up in Forbes.” I twist my lips and then chuckle. “It’s stupid really, but it’s a goal . . .” my dad mentioned it, and I have always felt like I needed to live up to it. “It’s just one I’ve had since I was in grad school. To be noticed for my work and not just for being Maxton Sharpe’s son.”

“I can understand that. What else is on there?” she asks, her fingers plucking at the sheet, her lips twisting.

Why won’t you look at me?

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it in a long time to remember,” I lie and don’t know why.

Because you don’t want to talk about the personal side of it. The married at forty part.

And why is that, Ledger?

“Huh.”

“Asher?”

“What?” Her fingers don’t stop with the sheets.

“Look at me.”

“Hmm?” Her eyebrows are lifted and her smile is in place when she faces me. She leans down and presses her lips to mine. “I’ve got to get going. Work’s calling.”

“Don’t go.” I reach out and grab her hand. “Let’s play hooky today. We can drive . . . I don’t know where, but we can drive somewhere and eat ice cream cones while sitting on the hood of the car and just be together.”

Who am I right now? When have I ever cut out from work to play hooky? When have I ever wanted to do something without a set purpose?

Her eyes darken. “I’m sorry.” Another press of her lips to mine. “I can’t.”

“Tell me why not?” I ask, my hand on her neck, pulling her back toward me.

“Because . . . I can’t.” She looks at me, and I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking. There’s something she’s just not telling me.

“Asher?”

And this time when she meets my lips, she doesn’t stop. She silences my question as she straddles my hips and then slowly kisses her way down my body until her lips wrap around my cock and suck me into forgetting.

Each lick of her tongue, every suck of her lips, each scratch of her fingernails against my balls, all drug me with desire and push the worry to the back of my mind.

But forgetting only lasts for so long.

I’m not about to complain about the incredible blow job she just gave me, but as she walks along the path to her car in nothing but my T-shirt down to her mid-thighs, my mind won’t stop.

Not because I have to go to work.

Not because I have meetings.