His mouth widens to a grin, showing off his gorgeous white choppers—which, lately, have had me thinking what it would be like if he bit me. Not too hard. Just a gentle press of his teeth on my?—
Nope! Not having those thoughts about my husband.
“Okay,” Charlie says, jerking me out of my accidental lust spiral. “I’m above average. How’s that?”
“Better.” I turn back to my food prep, blaming my growing hunger on the errant thoughts about biting. “Do you have rock-star dreams? Long to travel the world like your mom?”
“Nah.” The song shifts to a blues number I think I’ve heard Rosa Keller perform on the radio. “Had enough of the transient lifestyle when I was a kid. Think I’d rather stay in one place for a while. At least long enough to call it home.”
Is that what New Orleans is for him? Home?
“Well, there are lots of music venues in this town. You could get a gig if you wanted.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him shake his head.
“I’d rather play for fun when the urge takes me. Don’t need to perform for anyone else.”
“This show isn’t for me? Stab me through the heart, why don’t you?”
Charlie whips his head up, but he must catch the humor in my eyes because he smirks.
“You’re right. I play for myself, and I play for my wife. The only opinions that matter.”
“Pig’s too.”
“Of course.” He smiles down at the pit bull.
She finally accepts that the meat isn’t her treat, trotting over to settle by his feet.
They make a picture. Man and beast. Relaxed and adorable.
And, damn, if the man gets any hotter, I can forget the stove and just cook the entire dinner on his bare chest.
Don’t tempt me.
CHAPTER 35
LUNA
What a surprise that my father shows up when I’m handling shit.
The terraced planters I built for myself in my backyard at the beginning of the previous fall have sat empty for months. But now they’re full of a fragrant mulch, just waiting for seeds.
I’m about to grab the small handwritten labels I made, mentally mapping out my rows of future herbs and veggies, when I hear the squeak of the gate hinges.
I turn, expecting to see Charlie.
Instead, the man on my property is the last one I’d ever give permission to be here.
“Hey, baby girl.” My father wears a falsely affectionate smile.
The nickname and the lie on his face boil anger in my gut. This man is a walking, talking danger, encroaching upon my territory. I should sprint to my house and throw the dead bolt, getting walls between us.
That’s what I tell my clients.
Run.
Run to train. Run on your property. Run in daylight. Run on the treadmill to get your strength up, then run through your house to get comfortable with the sensation.
