Page 34 of Holding On To Good

He knew, without her telling him, where she’d put that goddamn key.

“Get it,” he told her, mouth tight.

She slid her fingers into the bodice of her dress, brows drawn together in fierce, drunken concentration, lower lip caught between her teeth. She wiggled her fingers around and sweat popped out on his upper lip.

He reached up and wiped it away.

With a forlorn sigh, she dropped her arm. “I can’t find it. You try.”

And she spread her arms to the sides and lifted her chest.

She was trying to kill him.

He looked at her upturned face, then her chest, the slight curve of her breasts swelling over the top of the dress, then back to her unfocused gaze. Thought of closing the distance between them, of him slipping his fingers under that bright, clingy material. Of touching her soft, warm skin, his knuckles brushing the rounded slope of her breasts.

“We’ll go to my place.”

But when he took her hand and tried to tug her from the door, she pulled free.

“Don’t wanna,” she whined. “I want to stay here.”

“Then get the key,” he told her, using the stern-but-patient tone that had always worked on Verity when she’d tested him. The one that brooked no arguments.

The one that had stopped working around the time Verity turned eleven.

But Willow obediently stuck her hand down the bodice of her dress again.

Maybe he’d have to drag out that tone more often.

With her hand under the dress, she did that finger-wiggling thing that had him staring at a spot just over her shoulder, his cock twitching happily, his chest tight, until she finally withdrew her hand, the key held triumphantly, her cheeks flushed with alcohol and pride. “I did it!”

He took the key from her, shifted her aside then unlocked the door. Holding the door open with his foot, he attempted to take her arm again, but she shook him off and brushed past him, her gait the slow, careful walk of the inebriated—legs wide and arms akimbo for better balance, each step she remained upright surprising them both.

He followed her into the foyer then shut the door. “You feel like sleeping on the couch?” he asked hopefully, nodding toward the living room to the left.

“Bed,” she said, starting up the stairs.

And toppled backward.

He caught her around the waist and she tipped her head back on his shoulder to look at him. “You’re my favorite.”

Her hair brushed the side of his jaw, the floral scent of her shampoo tickling his nose. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to turn his head and simply breathe her in.

“You’re my favorite, too,” he admitted softly. He hefted her higher, keeping her pinned to his side. “Come on.”

Half carrying her, they made it up the stairs and down the short hallway to her bedroom. He settled her against the wall so he could turn on the light, but she sidestepped her way to the bed.

And fell onto it face-first.

Urban flipped on the overhead light then rubbed his hand over his mouth as he studied her prone figure. She’d only made it onto the bed from her waist up, her feet on the floor, her body angled so that her head was bent oddly against the pillows piled up along the headboard.

With a sigh, he crossed to the bed. This was the first time he’d been in her room since they’d finished renovating her house a few years ago. They’d taken the wall out between two smaller bedrooms and built a master suite with attached bathroom and walk-in closet.

The last time he’d been up here, it’d been a clean slate, ready for her touch, the drywall unpainted, the wide-planked floors stripped and sanded. Now the walls were a soft gray, the trim around the windows white, the floors stained a deep chocolate brown. He’d helped her build the paneled head and footboards for her bed which she’d painted white then distressed. The bed sat against the far wall on a gray and white area rug, flanked by her great-great-grandmother’s antique dry sink on one side, a stack of antique suitcases on the other.

He stared down at her, trying to figure out the best, most respectful way to make her more comfortable. The dress had ridden up the backs of her thighs, the material barely covering the swell of her ass.

Figuring below the knees was the safest bet, he wrapped a hand around each of her calves and lifted her legs onto the bed, then tugged her down until her chin slipped off the pillow and her face rested on the white comforter.

---