Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)
“What?” I ask, quirking a brow.
“I had no idea you were so good in the kitchen.” She shrugs, and the tip of her tongue grazes her bottom lip.
I smirk. “You like that?” I grab a rag and make a show of wiping down the counter, bending at the waist unnecessarily and shifting my hips from side to side, making a total fool of myself.
It’s worth it when she bursts out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re always the one in the kitchen when our friends get together. I figured you deserved a chance to be the one relaxing.”
She swallows. “That’s sweet, but I actually don’t mind being the cook. It makes me feel useful.”
“Have you ever cooked for one of your dates?” I ask, unexpected jealousy snagging me by the throat. It’s so easy to picture Abbi in the kitchen with some guy, her smile, her laugh as she chats with him over a cutting board of veggies.
“A couple of times. I don’t actually date a lot.”
Yeah, I guessed as much, since I haven’t met a boyfriend of hers since she was in college. Cody. That dude was a tool. I realize I don’t know how he treated her when they were alone, but when they hung out with me, Kace, and Stella, he acted like she wasn’t there. He’d give her short, one-word answers to her questions and then gush about random, unimportant shit to Stella. The only reason I didn’t demand Abbi dump his ass was because Kace told me to keep my mouth shut, told me I was just feeling protective because I saw Abbi as a sister. He was wrong about how I saw her, but he wasn’t wrong that my feelings for her were coloring the way I saw her boyfriend. I wouldn’t have liked any guy she brought home.
“Why don’t you date more?” I ask, taking my seat again.
She huffs out a laugh. “I thought we already covered that.”
“Sex,” I say softly. Shit, that’s crazy. Even people who don’t like sex deserve good relationships. “Do you . . . I mean, is it because you have trouble finishing?”
She blinks at me, as if she’s not sure what I mean. Then her eyes widen for a beat before she tucks her chin to avoid my gaze. “A lot of women can’t, but depending on how things go, that’s not exactly my problem. I know how to take care of myself if needed, so I don’t really care about that either way.”
Jesus. I do. I care a lot. “What about alone?” I ask, because I’m a fucking masochist.
Her cheeks are red now. She lifts her chin and looks me in the eye when she says, “I’ve got that covered.”
I suddenly hate myself for my plans to go slow. I don’t want slow. I want fast and reckless. I want her stripped bare on her bed and showing me just how well she’s got that covered. I drag a hand over my mouth and groan.
“What?” she says. “You asked!”
“I know.” I snag my wine glass off the table and drain it. I’d love to cancel my meeting and pour myself a second serving, but I won’t. Not today. Today is for getting us both on the same page, for planting the seeds. “And now I’ll be punished by thinking about it the rest of the day. That’s a crazy-hot visual, champ.”
She shakes her head and fights a smile. “You’re crazy.”
My phone buzzes on the counter, and a glance at the clock tells me it’s a calendar reminder for my meeting with our newest client. “Not in the mood” is an understatement.
“Your meeting?” she asks.
Nodding, I stand and prowl to where she’s still lounging against the counter. “I’m sorry I have to go so soon.” I grab her hand and pull her close until her chest is a breath from mine. “Do me a favor tonight?”
Her lips part, and she levels her gaze on my mouth. “What’s that?”
“When you touch yourself, think about me.” She opens her mouth, and I can see the objection in her eyes, so I put a finger to her lips. “Please? Seems only fair, since I know I’ll be thinking about you.”
She closes her eyes and draws in a long, deep breath. “Okay.” She nods. “I can do that.”
“Good. I’m counting on it.”
When she opens her eyes again, her pupils are dilated, making her brown eyes look even darker than usual. She’s turned on, and walking away is pure hell.
Chapter Nine
Abbi
Monday is my day off, and the weather is beautiful, so I go on a long walk and then do a little yoga while my muscles are still warm. I’m sweaty, loose-limbed, and relaxed on my living room floor when my phone buzzes. When I see it’s a text from Dean, my heart does a little squeeze-and-shimmy thing, like it’s partnered up with my stomach in some ill-advised acrobatic swing dance.