Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

And that thought gave me pause. A Leah response. I knew that because I was getting to know her. I realized I had devoted more time to talking to her in ten days than I had with women I had dated for two months. I couldn’t predict what Leah would say yet, or finish her sentences, but I had a pretty damn good idea of how her mind worked and what made her tick.

She found awe in almost everything. Or if not pure awe, at least amusement or fascination or something. She liked to have conversations like a tennis match. Volley. Back and forth.

Right now, she was studying the lights of Midtown Manhattan and playing with the ends of her hair. Her profile was classic, high cheekbones and a narrow nose. Despite not wearing any makeup she had thick eyelashes, most likely courtesy of her Italian heritage. True to her earlier words, she had put her slippers back on and was still wearing them.

She was very comfortable naked, which I appreciated.

Skimming my hand over her cheek, I traced her jawline, and her bottom lip.

She did turn then and looked at me, her expression thoughtful but relaxed.

For a split second, with her face caught in the city lights, I felt something I didn’t want to feel. Something deep and powerful and fucking earth-shattering.

But then she stuck her tongue out at me.

The moment evaporated and I laughed, grateful for her silly gesture. She’d saved me from falling down a hole I couldn’t climb out of and sure as hell didn’t want to be in.

I bent down and kissed her.

Not a light, teasing kiss.

Not a tender kiss.

But a hard, demanding kiss to make me forget that I could be vulnerable to the beauty of a woman. To remind myself that a relationship wasn’t in our future and that I had no business roping Leah into dealing with me, the cold workaholic who would always put work first.

I ran my hands over her body, touching her warm, soft flesh everywhere, stroking her to sweet little gasps of pleasure.

Then I lifted her fuzzy fleece slippers onto my shoulder and I plunged inside her, hard and demanding.

I wanted to distract myself from thinking.

Drown in pleasure.

And convince myself that this was nothing. That I felt nothing. That we were nothing.

So I gripped her calves with a tight punishing hold and lied to myself.

Chapter 9

Something felt different about Grant.

We were lying in his bed and it was sexy and intimate, our bodies spent. Yet he seemed to have left behind the easy, teasing mood from dinner and was quiet. He’d gotten a notification on his phone and he’d actually looked at it, which seemed like poor post-sex etiquette.

Feeling left out of whatever the hell he was looking at, I’d picked up my own phone and started scrolling through social media.

“Hey, look, that video of me singing in Chanel is still up.” I showed it to Grant.

He took my phone out of my hand. I wasn’t expecting him to do that.

“Um, grabbie,” I complained.

“Sorry, but I can’t see it when you hold it. Your hand is moving.” Grant held the phone up over his head and clicked the play button.

My voice filled his bedroom. I was used to having recordings of me singing, but something about this felt so surreal. The lights of Manhattan penetrated the darkness of Grant’s bedroom and his sheets were cool, our naked bodies warm.

“You sound fantastic. And look beautiful.” He scrolled my screen. “Ten thousand likes.”

“Ten thousand?” That stunned me. “Are you kidding? That’s a lot.”