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Behind her sunglasses, he knew her eyes twinkled. “Private volleyball lessons at the Olympic level.”
He pinched her thigh in retaliation. “Don’t you even start.”
“What are you going to do?” The tilt of her chin was pure provocation.
“I will pull this car over.” He stabbed a finger at the windshield.
“And do what?”
He scoffed. “Don’t think I won’t spank you.”
“For the hundredth time . . .” She stretched in the seat, a languid, elegant rearrangement of her body. “You’re the one who didn’t like that, remember?”
His cheekbones burned, but he laughed, pure happiness rumbling up from his chest. Slowing for a red light, he eyed her in the passenger seat, her gaze warm on his face even through her shades.
He dropped his hand on her thigh and squeezed. “We’re okay, aren’t we?”
“We are.” She smiled, the gentle, bright curve of her lips that belonged only to him. “We have been for a while.”
Clearing the lump from his throat, he tightened his hand. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” A hint of impishness wrinkled her nose. “More than you know.”
On the remainder of the drive to the river house, they chatted about their respective flights, the girls, work, the sheer normalcy settling him further.
As town faded behind them, he glanced sideways. Her skirt had shifted, falling open along the side slit, giving him a glimpse of lean muscles and soft skin. Her very presence sparked a fierce need in him like it always did, and he shook his head, muffling a self-deprecating sigh.
He wouldn’t go into this with ideas about stripping that silky blouse from her, running his hands under her skirt, making her moan his name. She’d had a long day, getting up when he did for his early flight. Probably, she was tired, and he should keep his hands to himself.
Oh, yes, there . . . Tick, please.
The sultry whisper of her voice filtered through him with the memory of being wrapped around her, the lush heat of her body closing on him.
He rubbed his palm over the steering wheel, his fly uncomfortably snug, the flexible fit of the damn golf slacks she loved on him doing little to disguise the effect she had on him. Hell, he was pitiful where she was concerned. They’d been in bed early that morning, and already he wanted her again.
Like that wasn’t the story of his life.
At least he knew she was just as susceptible to him, even after all this time, after all they’d weathered.
He turned into the driveway, the sun just touching the top of the trees along the river. A spurt of melancholy hit his chest. He loved this place, always had, and in another life, maybe he’d have shared this house with her as their home.
Not that he was trading Houston for anything.
He stepped out, and she didn’t wait for him to open her door, meeting him at the rear of the car while he grabbed her wheeled suitcase. Light filtered over her face as she looked at the house. “It’s good to be here with you.”
“Good to have you here.” He tried to see it from her perspective. He’d had someone out to clean the siding and the porches last week, so the white paint gleamed under the mercury light. Land Parker had just mowed the yard, the fresh scent of cut grass lingering in the evening air. Golden light pooled on the brick walkway from the low-voltage lights.
She glanced over her shoulder as the undergrowth rustled in the woodline. “It’s still BumFuckEgypt, I see.”
“Oh, yeah, but you know I like that sometimes.” He grinned as they moved up the walkway and he punched in the code to unlock the door.
“Until you want to order a pizza.” Her soft laugh warmed him. Crazy how that sound made everything normal again.
“I’m telling you, the key is to pick it up on the way home.” He pushed the door closed with his elbow and set her bag down while she placed her leather carryall on the table. Aware of how grimy he felt, covered in dried sweat despite wicking fabrics, he gestured toward the door to the master suite. “I need a shower—”
The words died on his lips as she clutched the front of his shirt and pulled herself close to him, kissing him with a familiar hunger. Desire barreled through him, and he opened his mouth over hers.
She dragged his shirt free and rucked up the hem, flattened her hands on his chest, kneading at his pecs, tracing his ribs, stroking his abs, and he groaned into her mouth. Lord, he loved the way she touched him.
