The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient 2)

Why had he acted so disgusted?

He’d had that look in his eyes, the one men got when they wanted to kiss you. She knew that look. Or she thought she did. In that moment, all she’d wanted was for him to do it. She hadn’t stopped to think about marriage, green cards, and finding a daddy for her baby. She’d been too mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze and the pull that always drew her to him. She’d wanted to feel his lips on hers, to be close to him, to know him.

But he’d pushed her away.

As she showered and got ready for bed, her eyes pricked with tears a few times, but she didn’t cry. She’d been rejected before. This wasn’t new. It meant she needed to try harder. She could do that. She certainly wasn’t giving up.

Determined, she pulled on her favorite T-shirt, crossed the bathroom, and opened his door like she owned it. He propped himself up on an elbow and frowned at her as he swiped the overlong hair from his eyes. The blankets slid down, revealing his defined chest and part of his muscled stomach. Beautiful man.

Before he could come up with an excuse to send her away, she boldly helped herself to the empty half of his bed and stretched out on her side, facing him. Her shirt cooperated by exposing her shoulder and a good amount of cleavage. He looked. She saw him look. And since she had his attention, she reached up and gathered her hair above her head, away from her neck. The motion caused the neckline of her shirt to shift even lower, scandalously low. Cool air touched a fair amount of her chest, and she didn’t cover herself, even though her heart pounded.

Kh?i’s Adam’s apple bobbed on a loud swallow before he lay down and turned his back to her, and she suppressed a pleased smile. He wasn’t immune. He didn’t want to, but he liked what he saw.

In the dim light provided by the bathroom night-light, she judged the distance between them to be almost exactly one arm’s length. He worked all day keeping companies that far apart, and then at home, he kept the two of them that far apart. If she worked at it, she’d figure out how to close this distance.

CHAPTER TEN

Khai woke up on Sunday to bright sunlight spilling in through the windows and the insistent tweeting of chatty birds—they were probably the same ones who regularly shat on his car. He’d been certain he’d stay awake all night again, but as he’d lain there cursing Esme, her breasty Esmeness, and his body’s response to her, he’d nodded off and slept clear until morning.

He must have been dead tired, because he hadn’t noticed when she left. Her side of the bed was empty, but the blankets were thoroughly wrinkled. When he reached over, they were cool to the touch. She’d been gone for a while. He hoped she wasn’t ironing his underwear or trimming his lawn with his desk scissors.

Instead of going to hunt for her and do damage control, however, he pulled her pillow close and buried his face in it. It smelled of clean laundry, shampoo . . . and her. The smell was faint, but he recognized it. Soft and sweet, gentle. She’d spent the night here, in his bed, in his space, with him, and left part of herself behind. He let himself drag in a lungful of her scent, one more, and a last one before he grew disgusted with himself and got out of bed. So what if she smelled good? She still drove him crazy.

Once he’d gone through his regular morning routine, he headed to the kitchen, expecting to find her covered in jackfruit, cooking, or flipping his refrigerator upside down. But she wasn’t there.

He opened the sliding glass door connected to his kitchen and stepped into his backyard for the first time since he’d moved in. Nothing but dead grass and dirt where that tree used to be. Not even the roots remained, and all the weeds were gone. He had to admit she’d done a good job.

Where was she? She didn’t work Sundays, so his mom couldn’t have come and gotten her—not that she’d ever do that when she could just call and make him drive.

Had Esme . . . left him?

He’d been hoping for that all week, but now that it might have happened, he wasn’t as glad as he’d thought he’d be. But why would she want to stay after last night? He’d made his cousin cry at her own wedding, and then he’d frightened Esme when she’d tried to hold his hand. He’d clearly demonstrated why he should be alone.

A heavy sigh gusted from his lungs, and he went back inside and checked her room. She wasn’t there, but her suitcase was. His stomach relaxed, and he cursed himself every way he knew how. Why the fuck was he relieved she hadn’t gone yet?

Shit, he must be getting used to her. He didn’t want to get used to her.

He shoved his feet into his shoes and walked out onto the front porch to look for her. It was warm and sunny, but too early in the day to be humid. Those birds were tweeting, probably laughing because they’d left something new for him on his windshield. The lawn was only partially cleared, but it was already a great improvement. He grimaced. Ruthie had to be ecstatic.

Pink and peach begonias bloomed from neat bushes in the manicured lawn across the street. Ruthie gave those to the neighbors sometimes. He’d seen her do it. None for him, but that was fine. He didn’t want her damned begonias.

No Esme in sight. He stepped down from the porch to see if she was hidden between his house and the neighbor’s, and that was when he saw it.

The garage door was open.

A sick sensation surged through him, shortening his breath and making his palms sweat. Why was the garage door open?

He ran into the empty musty space, and reality hit him like a punch to the gut.

It was gone.

And Esme was gone.

When he did the math, a horrible certainty dawned upon him.

Esme was going to die.

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