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“I’ve been asking that myself. It just happens.”
She tilted her head to the side. Nothing just happened, even if he didn’t want to face whatever truth he hid from. After her father’s death, Miguel had used every excuse in the book to conceal whatever trouble he got in last. “That’s not a good answer.”
“It’s the only one I have,” he said, an edge of impatience in his voice.
She disengaged her hand from his. Did he really not know why he’d betrayed his brother? “Because you’re scared of what you’ll find out.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Not everything is fruitful. Take what happened to my brother. I didn’t have a big reason to do it, I just gave in to temptation one night and destroyed our relationship.”
She squared her shoulders. Unlike other guys who hid their red flags, Troy was waving his right in front of her. He made a case for her not to fall for him, and if she had an ounce of self-preservation, she would listen to him. But a small voice inside reminded her she was an adult. She could deal with things differently this time—because Troy was different.
And if she had handled bad sex in the past from unworthy men and dealt with the breakups, why couldn’t she experience delicious sex with Troy even if that meant knowing their marriage had an expiration date?
“I’m sorry about that. But I’m not your brother or his wife. And you can’t hurt me if you’ve given me a warning.” Or two or three, she added inwardly.
“Lara…”
Whitney sauntered back from the kitchen. “Any favorites?”
“We’re going with ginger and passionfruit filling,” Lara said. “We’re done playing safe,” she added in a playful tone, hoping to God she wasn’t shooting herself in the foot.
10
Troy slid on the mitts and opened the oven. He removed the vegetarian casserole, and glanced at it, hoping it looked half as good as the one he’d seen online an hour earlier. He’d let his housekeeper go home earlier and debated on ordering something for them. But the chat they’d shared earlier that day at the cake shop stayed with him long after he’d left for a meeting.
Take a risk.
He sat the casserole on the counter. Smelled half-decent, but the crust looked burned on the sides and in the middle, and not picture perfect like the image he saw. He usually favored protein shakes or the meals his housekeeper carefully prepared—and he ate out often.
The look in Lara’s eyes though… his heart squeezed in his chest, and the image of the mischief in her big brown eyes unraveled in his head. She’d talked about taking risks, and they both knew it she didn’t mean the cake flavor. He could have elaborated more afterward, but they both had things to do, besides—
Could he do it? Could he give her more than he wanted to give? More than he should give, more like it. Because deep down, he longed to give himself to her—unconditionally. But at the same time, he’d never hurt her. He’d never saddle her with a man like him, emotionally hollow and complicated.
Take a risk. He put the mitts aside. He’d taken a risk with this meal, and he regretted it already. This wasn’t a lavish dinner to bring any woman closer—if anything, it would make her run the other way.
He heard the faint sound of the door open, and he turned to Lara.
She looked much like the other night—hair disheveled, barely any makeup, shorts and work boots. She must have changed at work. Maybe they’d needed for her to step in again. Either way, his gaze darted from her face down the shirt clinging to her curvy body then down her shapely legs. A primal need thrummed inside him.
Moisture abandoned his throat, being replaced by a pulsing knot right at the base.
She erased the distance between them, and each step she took raised his internal temperature one notch higher. He’d visited Dubai in the summer, and that heat had nothing on what went on in his system.
Chuckling, perhaps sending his despair, she placed a hand on his chest, playfully pushing him away. “Don’t think about that yet. I’m starving and you promised me food.”
“I was hoping to have sex before you ate what I cooked.”
She withdrew, her gaze darting around the kitchen. “Wait, you did this?” she asked, pointing at the sad casserole.
“It’s vegetarian. And that’s about the nicest thing I can say about it,” he said looking away. A flush spread across his cheeks, a sentiment he seldom experienced. Usually, he preferred excelling at skills before showing them off.
She walked up to the island and looked at the casserole like it was an alien, completely fascinated. Then, when she looked to him again, tears brimmed her eyelids. Tears? He cleared his throat, confused. How could she cry without even trying it first? “This is…”
“Crap?” he said.
She launched into his arms, her warmth enveloping him. He embraced her, loving the energy bouncing between them, like sparks set off from their hug. A waft of her scent swirled around him, and he sighed into her hair.
When she pulled away from him enough to stare at him, he cleared his throat.
