Page 60 of Loving at 40

“I’ll take care of everything. Ask Mila and Lorna to watch them. Make a reservation. You just take some time later to get ready.” I can’t remember the last time I went on a genuine date. One I actually looked forward to planning and not one facilitated by my position in an investigation. We’ll have a sunset dinner, some wine, and a romantic walk on the beach. In my head, the night is a perfect way to appreciate this woman who has given me her body wholeheartedly and repeatedly.

I want to ask her if there’s any way to see her again. After this vacation. Before my next assignment.

While Jenna is beautiful as she is, nothing prepares me for the light makeup, loosely curled waves, and hip-hugging dress she wears tonight.

“Babe,” I groan as she exits the girls’ bedroom. The little princesses are already over at the main house having pizza and movie time with Mila and Lorna. Jenna said her good night to them earlier so she could get dolled up, and she is dolled the frickity-frack up. “I’m going to get in a fight tonight.”

“Why?” She laughs, smoothing her hands over her hips.

“Because no matter where we go, men won’t be able to keep their eyes off you.”

Jenna slowly smiles, and I step forward, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You clean up nicely yourself.” Her eyes roam my black dress shirt, rolled up to my biceps, and dark jeans. The days have been warm, and despite a breeze tonight, it will be humid on the restaurant's rooftop. A pair of flip-flops tone down my dressy apparel.

“Seeing you look at me like that makes me want to spread you out on this couch,” I warn, feeling the hunger in her eyes like a live wire down my center and spiking up my rod.

“Later?” she whispers, biting her lower lip.

“All night,” I tell her, reaching out a hand and leading her from the apartment.

Driftwood is the most popular restaurant in town and a bit of a tourist trap, but its rooftop view is incomparable, and it will offer a pretty setting when the sun lowers. They don’t take reservations, so when we check in, it’s a forty-five-minute wait, and I register my phone for a text alert when our table is ready. I’d suggest a drink in the bar, but I don’t want to share Jenna’s attention.

“Can you walk in those shoes?” Her high heels make my girl’s long legs look even longer, and the way I see it, Jenna is mine.

“For a little bit. What did you have in mind?” She’s holding my hand while her other hand curls around my forearm. We look like a real couple. We feel like the real thing.

“Let’s walk through the marina. Check out the boats.”

Jenna wrinkles her nose.

“What?”

“My husband managed the marina in Elk Lake City.”

“Not a boat fan?” Dammit. It’s a reminder there’s still so much to learn about her.

“I love boats and boating, it’s just . . . it’s nothing. Let’s walk.” She tugs my arm and steps forward.

“Babe, I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, and I definitely don’t want to say something that will trigger thoughts of him when you’re out with me.”

“I’m not thinking about him,” she says, catching my eyes. “Let’s walk.” She gently nudges my shoulder, still clutching my hand, still holding my arm, and we take off across the street from the restaurant, heading for the marina. Silence floats around us.

“Look, I don’t want to be an asshole. You can think about him. You can talk about him. I just . . .” I scrub a hand down my face.

“You just what?”

“I want to be the only man on your mind.” My voice lowers, knowing I sound even more like an asshole with that statement.

“You are the only man on my mind. Along with last night.”

My head turns toward her, and she sheepishly smiles. After going slow at first, we quickly got creative, and Jenna rode me before I had her facedown on the bed. Our final time was in the early hours of the morning, sleepy and lazy while we lay on our sides. It’s how I want to spend all my nights, wrapped up in her arms, slipping into her body.

“If I were a better man, I would not be thinking of you taking off your panties and letting me have you on some random boat deck in that dress,” I warn her, fighting my own grin.

“If you were a better man.” That smirky curl of her mouth reminds me of her lips wrapped around my dick and her tongue swiping over the head, and just dammit . . . later is not soon enough.

But first, dinner. “Behave,” I growl.