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“Thanks!” Paige says sincerely. “I’ll give it back to you the next time we meet.”
“No, sweetheart. Put it up in the first house you live in as a married couple. You need all the luck you can get when you’re first starting out.” She winks at her husband and throws her arms around him.
Whatever sort of weird they are, they’re madly in love after all these years, and that’s worth a smile.
The sun disappears when we disembark a few minutes later, but the deck remains just well enough lit for me to make out the words in the stitching.
“Home Is Where The Heart Is,” I whisper to myself.
Those words are a punch to the gut.
“Thank you again,” Paige says with a wave.
Her warm smile makes it impossible to dwell on the beatdown by embroidery.
“Thanks again for inviting us,” I say over my shoulder.
“After what a pompous ass I was, it’s the least I could do. I hope we’ll do it again,” Winthrope says.
“We’d love to,” I say.
I take Paige’s hand and lead her off the boat to dry land. The car waits, but Paige stops me before we get to it. The smile she wears disappears and she sobers up.
“So if Winthrope’s ready to sign...what does that mean for us?”
I draw in a fortifying breath.
“Victory. Plus, we hate each other a little less now. No complaints if it makes finishing our job easier.” I scoop her up and carry her to the car, opening the door with one hand.
Reese turns to glance in the back seat as I’m setting Paige down. “Looks like you two had fun tonight! And it’s nice to see you smile, bossman. You should do it more often.”
I can only manage a few lines of small talk.
Then I raise the screen between us and lock it so it can’t come down again, sliding in beside the woman who’s still mine, ninety-day contracts be damned.
19
The Art of Floating (Paige)
“Where were we?” Ward slides his hand between my back and the seat, drawing me closer, and closer still to delirium.
I’m barely in the car when I’m airborne.
Molten eyes like sea glass peer into me. Mint washes over me. I swear he’s bigger than the entire universe.
I sigh. “What do you mean?”
He strokes his hand through my hair, each pull of his fingers an X-rated promise.
“I just sat on a chaise with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I had to leave a project unfinished. Need I go on?”
Oh, God.
I press my forehead to his cheek, loving how his stubble burns my skin.
“Not sure. You’ll have to remind me,” I whisper.
“Have it your way, Paige Holly.” He slides two fingers under my chin, the better to find my lips.
He traces them like a treasure map, this hunter putting Orion to shame, before taking my bottom lip in his mouth and sucking. Hard.
My arms fuse around him, mewling his name—I didn’t know I could mewl.
“Ward.”
He pulls away from me and takes a harsh breath.
“Woman, you have no earthly idea what I want to do to you every time you make that sound,” he says.
“Teach me,” I breathe, finding his lips again with a nip of my teeth that drives him wild.
Our faces brush. Our tongues tangle. Our souls meet.
When he pulls away again, it’s so he can kiss my chin before diving down my neck. I knot my fingers in his thick, dark hair. He moves from the base of my throat, sweeping down to where my cleavage bubbles over my corset.
Holy, holy hell.
Rough lips tease the top of my breast, then open in a searching bloom of his tongue.
He lingers there, open mouth pressed against me, painting me with heat. I feel him draw something on my skin with his tongue.
A heart?
Dear God.
“Oh, you Wardhole,” I whimper, ready to be destroyed by a man I used to hate.
He picks me up like I’m weightless.
I’m completely in his lap now, fastened to him by his arms and roaming kisses.
His mouth attacks mine with a low, threatening growl. His hand cups my ankle, then slides further up, probing under the silk gauze of my skirt. Calloused fingertips graze my calf, ending me a hundred times over.
Our kiss only ends with my rough giggle when his finger skims behind my thigh.
He grins like the sex-god I know he is, continuing to draw circles on the back of my knee.
I laugh harder, kicking my leg. “Stop.”
“You’re ticklish.”
I kick my leg again, trying to rid myself of feathery fingers that tease too well.
“Am not!” I’ve gone from a girlish giggle to a full belly laugh.
Are belly laughs sexy?
His lips touch my forehead in answer. “Any other sensitive spots I should know about, Paige?”
“Find them on your own.”
Still laughing, I try wriggling away from him.
Open invitation.
Bad, bad move.
His grip tightens as his hot breath falls in waves against my neck. His finger moves from the bend of my knee, climbing up my thigh.
