Until Cobi (Until Him 3)
“I’m just reminding myself that you truly are crazy.”
“How’s that?” His lip twitches, and he crosses his ankles, then his arms over his chest like he’s settling in for a show.
“Do you not see my face?” I stop scrubbing to place my hands on my hips.
His eyes sweep my hair, face, and then down to his T-shirt he obviously put me in last night, and his eyes are darker when they meet mine once more. “What?”
“I look like I’m ready to step on the set of The Walking Dead,” I point out the obvious, while lifting my hands to wave in the direction of my face.
He shrugs. “You’re still beautiful.”
“And I see you’re still crazy.” I go back to scrubbing, while asking, “Is my breakfast ready?”
“Yeah, it’s in the microwave so Maxim doesn’t eat it,” he says, shoving his hands into the waist of his pants and then kicking them off toward the closet. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of him completely naked.
“Are you showering with me?” I know my tone is hopeful, just like I know my nipples are tight and my core is suddenly hot and wet.
“Yeah.”
Yay! my mind screams, my headache and nausea nowhere in sight.
His gaze on mine heats then he curses under his breath and looks away, shoving his fingers through his hair. “As much as I want what you’re offering, baby, I gotta get to work.”
“No.” I pout like a child who was forced to walk down the candy aisle at the grocery store and not pick anything up. “Seriously?”
“I’ll make it up to you.” He comes toward me, grabbing the face wipe out of my hand and tossing it to the counter. Then, with his hands on my hips, he walks me backward to the shower, stripping his shirt up and over my head. He opens the shower door, and as soon as we’re closed inside, his mouth covers mine and his fingers slide between my legs. Like he always does, he takes care of me, which means when he leaves me in the shower to get ready for work, I’ve had two really great orgasms and still have a smile on my face.
Chapter 17
Hadley
SITTING AT MY DESK Monday morning, I stare at my computer monitor in disbelief then pick up my phone and put it to my ear. I call my boss, not Marian. I call the actual owner of Giving Hearts, Scott Rosenblum. It rings and goes to voice mail, and I leave a short message with my name, asking him to call me back as soon as he has time to talk. When I place the phone back in its holder, I rub the bridge of my nose.
Last Friday, I received a phone call from another one of my families who had funds go missing. Funds they were planning on using to help with their child’s swimming fees. Knowing that Marian would give me the same runaround, I sent another letter to the company that takes care of the accounting, and this morning, I’m looking at almost the exact response I got before.
Dear Miss Emmerson,
Our records indicate that Check Number 2341 in
the amount of $222.45 was direct deposited on October 14th.
Please let us know if we can assist you further.
All the best.
This situation is really starting to frustrate me, and I can feel it in my gut that something is off. I look at the clock on the wall across the room and scoot away from my desk, opening the drawer where I keep my purse. I need to be across town in twenty minutes, which means I need to leave now. Thankfully, when I left Scott a message, I also gave him my cell number, and hopefully he calls me on that if he doesn’t reach me at the office.
I shut down my computer, grab my purse, and then leave for my car, saying goodbye to a few co-workers on my way out.
I make it to the McKays’ and park in their driveway, and as soon as I open my door, I hear kids laughing and shouting. I get out and slam my door, tucking my notebook and case file in my purse. It’s a Monday, but most of the schools are out for fall break, so the sound of kids being kids isn’t a surprise.
When I make it to the front door, and before I even have a chance to knock, it’s swung open and Liz smiles at me. “We’re in the kitchen making cookies.” Her smile lights up her eyes, and some of the tension in my shoulders dissipates seeing her happy and not heartbroken over her dad. I follow her into the two-story brick house, looking around as she hop-skips away.
I drop my bag on the bench near the front door that’s covered with backpacks, shoes, and random children paraphernalia, and then I shrug off my coat and hang it on one of the few unused hooks. Having been here before, I know that even though there’s clutter covering the coffee table in the living room, even though there is unopened mail on the entryway table, and dust gathering on some of the unused surfaces, the things that really matter are in place, organized, happy, healthy, and clean. This is the home of a family with children. A family who enjoys spending more time together than they do making sure everything is perfect and in its place.