Page 61 of Feels Like Home

“Do I wanna try the sauce?” he asks like it’s the craziest question ever. “Ofcourse,I wanna tryit!”

He moves over to the pan on the stove and grabs a spoon from the drawer before dipping it into thepan.

He blows on the sauce a few times and I watch, mesmerized by the shape his lips make when they pucker a bit to cool off the sauce, by his tongue that snakes out to test thetemperature.

I blow out a breath of my own, trying to calm the hormones raging insideme.

The spoon slips into his mouth, and I have an immediately irrational flare of jealousy over a piece of metal. It’sridiculous.

I assumed the more time I spent around Andy, the desire to basically lick him would start to go away. Or at the very least, lessen. But that’s far from what’s happening. The more I get to know him, the quicker, and harder, I’mfalling.

I shift my gaze from his mouth to his eyes and find him watching me, his eyes practicallydancing.

“Dad? How isit?”

I startle at the sound of Aidan’svoice.

“It’s incredible. I can’t wait to have more,” Andy says, never taking his eyes off me, the implication of his words weighing heavy in theair.

I clear mythroat.

“All right, boys, we have to let the sauce simmer for a while then we’ll make the lasagnalater.”

“Awesome,” Reece mumbles around a spoonful of cereal, a little bit of milk dribbling out of his mouth as he speaks. Chews. Swallows. Shoves another bite in. “Can we go fishingnow?”

I grin. I didn’t even notice him getting something to eat. “Absolutely.”

And that’s what we do. We spend the rest of the day fishing and relaxing by the water. We even get out the paddle boat and play around while trying to staydry.

The boys even prove their claim that Andy makes some excellent fried fish when he makes us a shore lunch after the boys teach me how to properly catch afish.

After we finish, the boys start tossing a football back and forth to each other while I try to execute my paybackplan.

“So, you really love it when a guy cooks, huh?” he says in myear.

“Mmm,” I hum, hopefully letting him know that to me, a man who cooks is sexy as hell. But really, he could be slinging manure, and I’d somehow find itsexy.

“Good to know,” hewhispers.

My legs are stretched out in front of me, body resting on my hands stretched out behind me. His arm behind mine as we relax, hip to hip, my bare thigh resting against his swim trunks. I don’t even fight the urge to make a cat-like stretch into him when he speaks so close to myear.

I’ve lost all desire to fight this losing battle of resistance againsthim.

I may not be in a bikini, but I’m showing the least amount of skin he’s ever seen on me. Add to the fact that the top pushes up my breasts, showing cleavage that I notice his eyes driftingto.

I thought I’d gain some sort of upper hand when I got into my swimsuit and lay out by the pond, but I was so, sowrong.

He takes one look at me, a slow perusal of my body. Then reaches behind his head, grips the collar of his shirt, and pulls itoff.

When he notices me ogling him, his nostrils flare and he leans in close, his calloused fingers sliding across the minimal skin showing between my tankini top and my bottoms, causing me toshiver.

“You trying to kill me?” he murmurs in my ear, his voice husky. His lips brush against the shell of my ear, and I tremble, causing my breath to come out instutters.

“What?” I ask, not even remembering what my plan was in the firstplace.

“You’re even more gorgeous than I imagined. And I have a bigimagination.”

And just like that, he is once again ontop.

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