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“Laurel’s not very deep. I don’t think it would take more than a week to get to know everything about her,” I joke. “She likes to shop and spend money. Other people’s money since she doesn’t want to lift a finger for it.”
“Of course,” he agrees with a widening grin.
“And she thinks the world should revolve around her every second of the day.”
Barrett nods. “That sounds like the woman I remember.”
“So why did you marry her?”
He shrugs. “Looking back now, I don’t know. Maybe because I liked making her the center of my world. I guess it was too much to expect her to do the same for me. Whatever it was, I’ll never make that mistake again.”
He doesn’t want to get married again? Like ever? Before I have time to digest the rest of his comment, he says, “That’s all I can do for your knees and palms since I don’t think Band-Aids will stay on them long. How do they feel?”
I look down at my messed-up hands and legs. “Fine. Thanks for mending them.”
“No problem.”
“I guess we can get off the floor now. Are you hungry?” I ask as we both get to our feet. I have to use the counter to pull myself up.
“Not really,” he answers.
“Me either. I just want to get out of this dress.” I grab the skirt and let it go again. “Could you get the zipper started?”
“Sure.”
I turn around and gather up my hair to hold it off my neck so he can get to the zipper, but nothing happens.
“Barrett?” I look over my shoulder at him, wondering what’s taking so long. His expression just looks confused and guilty, which doesn’t make any sense.
CHAPTER NINE
Barrett
One second, everything is going fine. The next thing I know, Lyla lifts her long red hair off her neck, and my dick twitches to life.
Finally.
Other than waking up with morning wood a few days here and there, it’s the first time I’ve gotten aroused by a woman since the divorce.
And of course, she had to be my ex’s sister.
It’s probably just their resemblance – the red hair, some sort of Laurel flashback. Maybe I’ve developed a hair fetish. Or a neck fetish because my mouth waters, wanting a taste. I would run my tongue right up the side…
“Barrett?” Lyla glances over her shoulder at me, and I instantly feel guilty, as if she can tell what’s going on in my pants with one look at me.
If I unzip the back of her dress, the problem with my dick is only going to get worse. If I can hold off, think about something else fast, I may not get full-on hard.
But I’m out of time since she’s waiting.
Fuck, I feel like a werewolf trying not to shapeshift on a full moon as I reach for her dress’s zipper tab and start slowly sliding it down her back.
“If you can get it to my waist, I can take it from there,” Lyla says.
If nothing else, knowing she’s all banged up from her fall should make her off-limits tonight.
Instead, my dick grows heavier because I’m a bastard for enjoying getting to take care of her, for being the one to help her get home, tend to her wounds, even if they were small. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing for that, though, I tell my now half-hard cock.
I’m a grown-ass man. It should take more than a bare neck to turn me on. But after years, it seems like Lyla’s is the sudden trigger.
