The comment quirks her lips into a smile, a sort of rare sight for me. She never smiles like that when it’s just us together.
“Sure they can,” she agrees. “Spouses can be competitive too.”
I take a cue from Soren’s book and wink. “Promise?”
“Is that Parker Somerville making a fucking joke?”
“It might be.”
She rolls her eyes. I drag my thumb over her bottom lip again, exacting a soft sigh that makes her visibly shiver. When she blinks, it’s slow and lazy, almost drunk.
“I’ll protect you from the dirty work,” I whisper. “I promise.”
She meets my gaze, fiery passion burning in her irises. The pupils are back to their regular size, yet I can see the remnants of lust for me hiding there, the not-so-easily cast aside feelings she harbors deep down. It’s there. And it doesn’t take a goddamn psychic to see it.
When she pushes my hand away, she asks, “What if I want to get my hands dirty?”
She fixes her dress and saunters off before I can retort, leaving me in the silence of the family room. After fixing my cock back into my pants and making sure there’s no evidence of our encounter, I return to the engagement party, trying not to think of all the ways I might take Alex in this house once we’re married.
I have too many ideas.