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“Do you have to go?” I moan, a throb aching between my legs.
“I don’t want to.” He backs away with a sigh, eyes still heavy. “But I have to meet someone.”
I wiggle my brows and run a finger down his shirt buttons, like that will entice him to stay. “Who?”
Let him go.
Everything inside is screaming at me to run.
It’s familiar.
It’s the same sense I always get when my heart is on the verge of falling.
And I always listen.
I always run.
But his eyes keep my feet and my heart pinned to one spot.
“Your questions are going to get you in trouble someday.”
I shrug, swaying back and forth. “You don’t call me trouble for nothing.”
He kisses my nose, and it comes awfully close to my lips.
It’s too tender. Too intimate.
My heart stops, but he doesn’t notice.
Lips tingling with the want to touch him, disappointment floods when he steps away, keys swinging from his fingers. “Your questions aren’t why I call you trouble.”
“I know.”
It’s because I can’t stop having sex with you, and my heart is in trouble.
I laugh to hide the wobble in my voice, biting down on my lip as he walks away. “I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go.”
He turns, feigning shock. “Ms. Russell, are you staring at my—”
“Your ass,” I finish. “Oh, yeah.”
Shaking his head, he taps the door frame with his knuckles.
“Trouble?”
“Yup?”
“I think I have a surprise that will cheer you up.”
“I don’t think I can take much more,” I admit, already searching for hair at my waist that’s no longer there.
“Just come downstairs.”
Eyes narrowed; I take his outstretched hand.
“It’s in the kitchen. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
He leaves me standing in the hallway, wondering what the hell is going on. But when I open the kitchen door, the scream is real, as is the person sitting on the stool.
