Love the One You're With (Sex, Love & Stiletto 2)

“On?”

Grace took a deep breath. Took a chance. “Are you willing to be a one-woman kind of guy?”

His arms were around her then, lifting her off her toes and planting a possessive kiss on her mouth before resting his forehead on hers. “I sort of want to brawl with this Greg character. Does that answer your question?”

Grace’s arms wound around his neck. “I’m a modern women. Violence doesn’t do it for me.”

“Okay, how about this? Hearing that Greg proposed is one of the worst moments of my life in recent history.”

There was that damn stomach flip again. She put her hand to his jaw. “Why?”

He turned his face slightly, planting a kiss on her palm. “Because I want you to be a one-guy kind of woman. And I want to try to be that man.”

There was something about the way he ended that sentence. There was the briefest hesitation, as though there was an unspoken for now tacked on at the end.

Take what he’s offering, Grace 2.0 whispered. It’s a big step for a guy like him.

Was it enough?

True, 1.0 was waving warning flares in Grace’s face, but 1.0 naively believed in happily-ever-after.

Grace, however, would take the good-enough with Jake over the failed fairy tale with Greg any day.

“So about last night’s threat?”

He paused in the process of nuzzling her neck. “Huh?”

“You said if I was late, you were going to mention my, um, noises on the website. I haven’t looked yet, but …”

He avoided eye contact. “Well …”

“Oh God, tell me you didn’t.” A horrified laugh bubbled out of her. “I’m pretty sure you just let everyone know this little game of ours got bumped up to the next level.”

“The naked level?”

“That’s the one. I swear to God, Jake, I will kill you. My parents read that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Trust me, there’s not enough chocolate in the world.”

He began moving toward the bedroom. “I was thinking more quid pro quo.”

“Speaking a dead language isn’t going to get you laid. Also, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Jake dumped her unceremoniously in the bed. “Then allow me to be more plain. You get to write about my noises. Fair enough?”

She sat up, already scooting toward the end of the bed. “Where’s your laptop? I already know exactly what—”

He grabbed her ankle. “Hold up there, Lois Lane. You’ll need to do your research.”

She shot him a witheri

ng look over her shoulder. “I’ve already done my research on that.”

With a pounce he was on top of her, rolling her onto her back as his hands made quick work of the too-loose pajama pants.

“There can never be too much research, Brighton. Not when it comes to naked time. Now, in order to get my noise just right, you’re going to have to really thrill me—”