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There's a delicious feeling in my stomach, and it uncurls like a contented cat. My heart beats a little faster than normal. I can't remember the last time we flirted—something as natural to us both as taking in oxygen—but God, it feels good.
“And how was your day?” Alex folds up the buggy and stashes it by the door. “Did you manage to entertain yourself?”
“I went for a walk with David.” I look for the flash behind his eyes. When they narrow, satisfaction warms me from head to toe.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” I put Max in his bouncy chair and walk over to the kitchen. I've deliberately chosen a tight-fitting pair of jeans, taking advantage of the fact that stress has brought me back to my pre-baby shape. Alex has always been an arse-man, and I can feel the heat of his gaze as he watches me. I feel in control, sexual, and the power invigorates me. It lasts for about five seconds, right up until I go to fill up the kettle with some water.
I manage to pull the tap clean off from the spout.
Water gushes upward in a geyser Yosemite would be proud of, drenching my hair, my face, and my clothes. I jump backwards, screaming, trying to reach out and block up the gaping hole, and only managing to cover the whole kitchen with spray.
When I turn around Alex is doubled over with silent laughter, clutching at his stomach as he looks at me. His grin is so wide it's splitting his face.
I think about helping it along.
“Fuck, bugger, fuck!” I jump about, reaching for a tea towel to cover up the spray. It's next to useless, becoming soaked in moments, and my resulting curse does nothing to dampen Alex's humour.
“Language, the baby's listening.”
I whip round and mouth “fuck off,” in response, and he starts to laugh even harder.
“Fat lot of good you are,” I shout at him. “Aren't you supposed to be the handyman around here?”
“You want my help?” He's a walking smirk. Sexy and hot, yet completely frustrating. He takes a step towards me, his feet squeaking on the wet tiles, and I flick the now-sodden tea towel at him.
“Hey!” He grabs my wrist when I try to whip him with it. “Lay off with the violence.”
I'm soaked from head to toe. Water gushes out, pouring over the surfa
ces and the floor, sloshing around my feet. Yet I'm grinning at him, joining in his laughter, feeling my heart flutter when I catch his eye.
He looks good—too good. His hair is perfectly messy, his clothes bone dry. So I grab his arms and pull him towards me, twisting him until his body is firmly in the firing line.
Then we’re both soaked, our clothes clinging to our skin. Giggling and laughing, we wrestle with each other, trying to push each other beneath the spray.
His arms circle my waist, pulling me to him. My T-shirt sticks to his, and the laughter that was bubbling in my throat only a moment before turns into air, sticking and catching before it dies away completely.
“Fuck, you're beautiful.” He wipes a wet lock of hair from my forehead. My chest tightens as I stare at him, his hair inky black with water, droplets pouring down his face.
“So are you.”
He presses his lips to mine, hot and needy. I feel their movement in my stomach, between my thighs, and I'm kissing him back, breathless and demanding, closing my eyes when I feel his hands pushing underneath. His palms slide against my wet skin, warm and firm, and I loop my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
We kiss, hard and fast, as if there's no other way. As if we have no choice. I can feel him hard against my thighs, right where I ache for him. The sensation shoots pleasure to the tips of my toes.
“Lara,” he breathes against my lips. I answer him with a moan, low and long. Then he's kissing me harder than ever, his tongue sliding against mine, and I'm nothing but a mess of desire.
“Baby, I need to sort out the tap.” He pulls back, his lips still touching mine. “As much as I want to keep kissing you.”
When he moves away, my body throbs with disappointment. I step back, leaning against the counter, trying to catch my breath. I’m still silent as he grabs his tool box from the cupboard and turns off the water at the mains.
When Max calls out, I'm almost relieved. I leave Alex in the kitchen, messing about with a wrench, and walk out, dripping onto the carpet. Max stares up with wide eyes, as if he's trying to work out why the heck I'm so wet.
While I'm trying to work out what the hell just happened.
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