My brows lift. “Why do you sound like you’re jealous?”
The second the words leave my mouth, heat creeps up my neck. He called me out on my jealousy at the pet store, and I flat-out denied it. I’m pretty sure I didn’t fool him for a second.
Now the tables are turned.
He shrugs instead of answering. My gaze drifts to his shoulders as he turns back to the mess. They’re broad and bare, the muscles shifting under warm skin as he sweeps the last of the glass into a pile. My fingers are inches away from touching him again.
Don’t do it, Maria.
No matter what.
Do not touch him.
But…
No buts.
But…don’t I deserve a little—or big—something just for myself?
A voice in the back of my head answers immediately.
Yes, girl. Of course you do.
After making a neat pile of glass, he grabs the dustpan and sweeps it up. The soft scrape against the tile fills the quiet kitchen.
“Some people think flowers and candy are the way to a woman’s heart,” I say, trying to keep the moment light. “But there’s nothing sexier than a man sweeping.”
He dumps the glass into the trash and straightens slowly. His dark eyes lock onto mine as he leans the broom against the counter. “You think sweeping is sexy?” he asks.
My pulse kicks up another notch.
“I think…” God, what do I think? I think I want to put my hands and mouth on his body. I think I want to feel his hands on mine again. My throat tightens.
“I think I should get down now.” I shift forward, ready to slide off the island before my brain does something reckless. But before my feet even touch the floor, he’s there.
Right there.
His warm hands land on my legs, and he gently—deliberately—widens them as he steps between them. My breath catches.
“Maybe I am jealous,” he growls. The words rumble low in his chest, sending heat rushing through me.
I glance toward the hallway. The house is silent. The boys and Marbles are fast asleep upstairs. My brain races. Because the truth is staring me in the face.
Maybe… just maybe… tonight I can make myself the priority.
Maybe tonight can be about what I want.
What I need.
Not the future I can’t have with this man.
“Maybe,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper.
Oh God.
Am I really going to do this?
I am.
