I know my own are here somewhere, but I just want to wear his. I do a flirty little spin in front of him, and when I stop I swear he’s checking out my boobs.
I can’t decide if I’m embarrassed or not, but when my nipples harden in response to his gaze I feel myself blush.
“Whatcha making?” I ask, hoping to distract myself from my thoughts. I’m sure he wasn’t actually looking at my nipples.
Or was he?
I can’t help but hope that he was. I’ve never felt the way that I do when his eyes are on my like that. It’s like a fluttering down low in my abdomen followed by a heated throbbing even lower, between my thighs.
“Grilled cheese okay?” he asks, pulling a package of sliced cheese from what I can see is a mostly empty refrigerator. Lost in a soft flush of desire, his words startle me and I scramble to catch up to what he just asked me.
“Works for me,” I tell him. He always made the best grilled cheese when we were kids. “What can I do to help?”
“Grab some plates out of the cabinet over there.” He points, and I cross the room and take two out, along with a couple glasses, and set them on the counter beside him before hopping up on one of the stools to watch him make the sandwiches. He makes us soup too, homestyle chicken noodle from a can, which has always been my favorite.
“Eat up, Sweetpea ,” he tells me, setting a bowl and plate in front of me. I adore that he still calls me by the pet name he gave me when I was little. It’s kind of nice to just relax and let him take care of me. I can barely remember the last time anyone took care of me. I could definitely get used to this kind of attention.
Especially if it’s coming from Travis.
“Why do you think a sandwich made by someone else always tastes so much better?” I ask through a mouthful of buttery toasted bread and gooey cheese.
He looks at me as he chews a bite of his own. “I suppose it’s the love that goes into it.”
I’m unsure how to respond to that, so I just hum a little and nod while stuffing another big bite in my mouth. This is a freaking yummy sandwich, so I can’t help but wonder how much love would be in it. Seems tasty enough that it must be a lot…
“This is so good,” I tell him, my mouth full of food, but I just can't bring myself to care.
“I told you. Made with love. Of course it is.”
I lower my eyes to my plate, even more unsure of what to say this time. This is his second reference to love in just a few minutes, and that plus finding the hidden pictures and letters has me feeling off kilter.
Travis
It’s almost funny how easy it is for me to keep her off balance. Not that I'm trying to or anything, but she is feeling awkward about my declaration of love.
I’m not going to hide it from her.
I loved her first when she was a scared, sad little girl. I loved her even more as a spunky, rebellious teen who never failed to make me laugh with her letters, and after being reunited for just one day I know that I love her even more now than I ever have before.
All the years of worry and searching compel me to keep her safe, to shelter her and to give her anything that makes her happy. Once she realizes that I am completely wrapped around her little finger I might be in trouble, but I don’t mind.
It will be the best kind of trouble.
After the way our lives started out we both deserve to be happy now. She makes me happy, and I guarantee that I am going to do everything in my power to make her happy too. I can’t ever go back to living my life without her.
I open my mouth to tell her how I feel. I don’t want to lose this opportunity, but before the words can cross my lips the shrill ringing of my phone interrupts me. I see that it is an unknown caller from Las Vegas. There is only one person who would be calling me from Vegas.
Taking the call as a sign that I should wait, I answer.
“Keller & Stone Securities, Travis speaking.” I step through the back door onto the porch, motioning for Faye to stay put and finish her food. I’m not sure exactly how this call is going to go and I don’t want to freak her out.
“Mr. Keller,” a deep, gravelly voice begins, “This is Xavier Cerelli. Your partner, Mr. Stone, contacted me about you having some interest in finding my wife. Something about your own missing person being located and needing protection from my family.”
He isn’t asking, he’s telling me.
“That’s correct, Mr. Cerelli. I would like to arrange a trade, so to speak. My services in helping to locate your missing wife, and in return, you take steps to ensure that my Faye will be safe from the Cerelli family. It’s my understanding that it was your father who had an interest in having her located. I would like for that search to be terminated.”
The man on the other line sighs and when he speaks his voice carries an ocean of frustration. “Why in the world was my father searching for your woman?”