Page 70 of Sweet Talking Man


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Leif made her reckless.

"You want to talk some more or do you want to have your buttons popped?" he asked, fingering the buttons on her blouse.

"My buttons popped? That sounds dirty," she whispered before running her hands over his shoulders. Then she trailed her fingers down his stomach toward the drawstring. Below the ties, his pants tented. "But maybe it's not about the buttons."

She tugged playfully on the string.

“You’re a wicked woman under those sweater sets. I dig that about you,” he said, licking her collar bone.

She responded by sliding her hand lower.

''Ahh," he moaned, lifting his head and catching hold of her hand. “You better stop now."

Abigail rose. "I'm only pausing. Where’s your bedroom?”

He jerked his head toward the recess to the left. “That way.”

She stepped away from him, lifting her blouse over her head as she walked toward the darkened hallway that led to his bedroom. She also unbuttoned the skirt, wiggling out of it, pausing only to kick it aside. Her bra and panties were lacy pink confections she'd found in a box she'd packed away a few years after her honeymoon when T-shirts and practical bras became her go-to for lingerie.

"You really are a bad girl, Abigail Orgeron,” he said, his voice playful as he followed her.

She unhooked her bra and sling shot it toward him. Then she bent over and eased the panties from her body.

“Holy smokes,” he said.

Abigail, now splendidly naked, looked over her shoulder. “I’ve learned being a good girl means you never get off. So come with me so we can finish what we started. I’ll let you pop my buttons if you’ll let me untie your strings.”

Leif grinned. “I am good at popping buttons, so you know.”

“I don’t doubt it. And I am very talented at untying things. Very slowly. With lots of pressure. Maybe a little suction. Or I could-”

Leif’s growl cut her flirtation short, and she scampered toward his bedroom, as he moved toward her.

She was looking forward to giving him what he’d given her - the ability to live in the moment.

15

ABIGAIL LOOKED AT Cal and grimaced despite her mother's incredible Sunday lunch efforts. She felt grumpy not only because her ex-husband currently wolfed down turnip greens at the Beauchamp family table, but also because she hadn't been able to see Leif since Tuesday night. Birdie had come down with the flu at the same time a big group celebrating the first parades of Mardi Gras in New Orleans had descended on the B and B. "Can you pass the rolls, Jake?"

Her youngest brother tossed a roll at her. Abigail snatched it out of the air and gave him the stink eye.

"Jacob Beauchamp, don't throw things at my table," Fancy said, not missing a bite of the chicken and dumplings she'd served moments ago.

Jake grinned in spite of their mother's proclamation. "She said pass it."

Fancy jabbed a finger at him, saying nothing more.

"Sorry, Mom," he said, retackling the food on his plate. A few minutes slid by before Jake looked up at his former brother-in-law jammed in between Birdie and Matt. "So, Calhoun, tell us about Cali-for-ni-ay."

Cal cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ''Not much to tell."

"Well, you were out there five years. Surely you did something more than Morgan."

Her daddy must have stomped down on Jake's foot because he yelped. Dan Beauchamp always sat next to Jake in order to pinch, nudge, or out-and-out pop his youngest child, who had a mouth with no filter on him. Fancy rolled her eyes and tried to stifle a grin behind her napkin.

"Watch your mouth at the table, son," Dan warned.

"Sorry, Pop." Jake's blue eyes danced and he didn't look the least bit sorry.

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