Page 69 of The Geography of Happiness

I turned back toward the kitchen and the memory of his lips on mine evoked a wholly different reaction.

Definitelynotsensible.

But definitely not empty either.

More noise. A dishwasher starting. Drawers closing.

I pushed off the wall.

Just accept the damn gift. This bubble in time. A safe space away from Painted Bay. Away from the nosy eyes and ears of my friends. Away from the endless responsibilities that filled my life.

Here, Hannah was safe asleep in bed and there was only one thing on my mind.

Spencer.

The smooth slide of his lips over my skin. His tongue down my throat. His cock grinding on my belly. Mine against his thigh. A man. A safe man. A man who wanted me for nothing except for who I was. No baggage. No expectations. No demands. Just a small moment in time. A few hours of the kind of pleasure I’d rarely known. The kind my friends talked about as a given in their lives. But not mine. Who knew if or when the opportunity might come again?

I glanced one more time toward the guest room down the hall, and just like that there was suddenly no question to answer. I sucked in a breath and started walking toward the kitchen, my pulse hammering in my throat.

Would I regret it?

Probably.

It was the craziest, stupidest decision I’d ever made.

Was I going to turn back?

Hell no.

Fuck the fallout.

I’d deal with that later.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Terry

When I steppedinto the kitchen, Spencer was standing with his back to me, staring out the window over the sink to the darkness beyond. Rain spattered on the glass, the panes rattling softly in the old wooden frames. The weather had taken a turn for the worse.

I pushed the door closed and Spencer looked over his shoulder, a frown etched on his forehead, guilt and regret swimming in his eyes. It was enough to make me reconsider and I hesitated, staying where I was.

“You’re still up,” I said, because I was intelligent like that.

His troubled gaze flicked on and off mine. “Oh... yeah. I was, ah, just... you know, tidying up. How is Hannah?”

“She seems good.” I took a tentative step forward. “A bit of a headache and a sore knee, but she ticked all the concussion boxes—right day, date, time, place, and so on.”

“That’s great,” he murmured, watching me closely. “She’sgreat.”

That made me smile. “She is. And she’s promised to call if she needs to get out of bed, so...”

“Oh.” That little crease popped back up between his eyes. “I thought you were heading to bed.”

My gaze steadied on his and I took another step. “I changed my mind.”

Hope flashed, then died in his eyes. “Look, Terry. I owe you a huge apology for... before. You’ve been crystal clear about not wanting?—”

“Shut up.” I bridged the remaining distance between us, fisted his jersey, and pinned him against the counter. “I can think of a lot better things to do with your mouth than apologise for something we both know I wanted. Like kissing me.”

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