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The only people I can trust are Grace and Ernestine. Men? I don’t get them.
I do know one thing. I’m ready for whatever mood is making his chest expand with every breath. I don’t move a muscle. I just want to witness whatever temper tantrum is about to pop. Just so I can prove to myself that he’s not worth crushing on.
The storm doesn’t come, though. Still, my shoulders remain tight and ready to defend myself.
Wade scrubs his bewildered face with his palm. “Let me think how to contradict that line of thought,” he says, low and lethal.
He leans in so close that he has me backed against the doorframe. What is this? I am a tiny trapped kitten, and he’s…
He angles his face down, down, down until we’re connected, his mouth against mine.
My body silently screams in joyful disbelief.
Wade’s kiss is rough, salty, and all too brief.
When he pulls away, I feel fifty pounds lighter, and my shoulders have relaxed after what feels like millennia of tension.
I’ve read all the signs wrong: the carrying, the terms of endearment, the hand holding, the long, dark stares that I felt pierce my chest. I’m so used to distrusting people that I question everything.
All I can think to say is, “Why’d you stop kissing me?”
“Don’t want to get dirt on you.”
“I don’t mind,” I say with a flirty look.
He smiles and lands another kiss on my mouth, this one slower, more thorough. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I accept it hungrily.
I don’t know how long we stand here, kissing in the bedroom doorway.
Long enough for my lips to swell and my foot to throb.
“I saw that wince,” he says, kissing me one more time, ending with a brush of his teeth against my lip that makes my sex clench. “Come on.”
For the third time today, Wade picks me up and sits me on the bed. But this time, he sits next to me.
Ok. I don’t need water after all. I just need a spicy kissing session on my boss’s guest bed. That’s all I need.
Foot pain? What foot pain?
Wade kisses like it’s his last day on earth. Passionate and deep, as if he’s trying to get a point across, and he doesn’t want me to miss a single nuance. His tongue in my mouth is urgent and claiming. His hands squeeze my hips.
I’m overwhelmed by the presence of this man. Gentle but firm, trying so hard not to defile me with dust and dirt.
“Tell me if this works to keep you from putting weight on that foot,” he murmurs as his mouth drags down my throat, dotting my skin with wicked, nipping kisses.
“Sure does, boss. I’ll do whatever you say,” I breathe.
He laughs against the ringed collar of my tee-shirt. “Sure you will,” he says. I notice an urge to remove my clothes, to feel his lips there.Yes, please, tear at my shirt and leave a trail of hickeys on my collarbone, I tell Wade by ESP. I want him dirty and dusty and sweaty and covered in grime. I don’t care.
My mind is ten steps ahead of where we are. We’re just kissing and barely into the area of petting.
Much to my chagrin, Wade pauses the kissing to check on me, carefully brushing his fingers through my hair. “How’s the foot doing?”
“I don’t know, doctor. Maybe you should take off my clothes and find out.”
Chuckling, he reaches down and tugs off my right sock. Wade examines my foot tenderly, his forehead furrowed.
“Swelling’s gone down,” he says, running one rough finger over the arch of my foot. My toes curl in pleasure at the contact. “That’s good. Any more pain?”
