Page 79 of Bad Run

My stomach flips at the sound of her soft voice.

“Did you find the place okay?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“Yep. No problem. Where do you want me to park?” She glances around, trying to get a view of the house through the window.

“Here is fine. I’ll pull your car into the garage later.” I point straight ahead to the four-car garage draped in wood beams, stone, and ivy.

Gwen’s gaze turns on me, and she smirks at me. “Do you think you can fit in here?”

I can’t help that her question triggers visions of her struggling to slip down my fat cock and ride me in the back of the cab. Said cock rises at attention and my voice drops low, thick with lust. “Oh, I’ll fit.”

Gwen’s cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. “Just open the garage door, you dirty knight.”

Dirty knight?

“As you wish.” I gesture a bow with my head and hand. From my phone, I tap the garage door open.

“Wesley was a pirate, not a knight,” she quips as she takes her foot off the brake and drives off.

A deep laugh bubbles out of me as I watch her pull into the garage.

This is going to be fun.

Gwen takes the empty spot beside my navy-blue Mercedes wagon and kills the engine. The trunk pops open, and I’m at the driver’s side door, opening it and extending my hand for her to take before she can get out of the car.

“Thank you.” She places her small hand in mine and slides out of her seat.

Electricity flows between us, and her powdery floral scent wraps around me as she stands, reminding me of home.

“You’re welcome.” On instinct, my eyes drink her in from head to toe.

Damn.

I think Gwen is trying to kill me.

My little wife is wearing some sexy strappy sandals that tie around her calves and ankles, some silky-looking white short-shorts, and a matching white tank top that bares just a sliver of her waist.

Fighting the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her, I release her hand, relishing in the lingering heat of her touch against my palm. “How was the drive?”

“Long. There was more traffic than I expected.” She sighs, draping a pink suit jacket in the crook of her arm.

“Sorry about that.” I take her jacket, and in three strides I’m at the back of the car, watching her shrug.

“It’s fine, Lance.”

I lift the trunk lid and growl. “What the fuck is this?”

“My suitcase?” Gwen asks. Her honey-colored eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

Reaching in, I lift the hot pink suitcase and place it on the floor between us. This fucking bag is carry-on size. There is no way she packed more than a week’s worth of clothes in this tiny-ass thing. And to think the smallest thing I thought I’d see today was her car.

“I thought we agreed you would move in. This is barely an overnight bag.” I point at the tiny-ass suitcase.

She grabs the handle and drags the suitcase closer to her. “I guarantee that there is more than a weekend’s worth of clothes in here.”

Again, the word temporary flashes in my head like a neon sign.

I’m pissed. It’s as if she’s not even trying to make our marriage look real.