Page 69 of Just The Way You Aren't

"So," she says, pivoting quickly, "speaking of adapting, how are you handling your first sleepover in my chaos right now? Is your schedule-obsessed brain having an aneurysm?"

I recognize the deflection for what it is but decide to let it go. For now. "You know what's funny? I would have been climbing the walls yesterday. But right now? I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."

She turns to face me again, searching my expression. "Really?"

"Really. Though I should probably at least check my email at some point. Alfred's probably having a stroke because I'm not in the office on a Sunday."

"Ah, him. The dread Alfred. The board member who's been giving you a hard time."

"The very same." I move closer, unable to resist anymore. As I trap her against the counter, I breathe in her scent—strawberries and something uniquely her. "But I'm not thinking about Alfred right now."

"Oh? What are you thinking about?"

"How we have the rest of this beautiful Sunday ahead of us," I murmur, my hands finding her hips. "And you're looking way too tempting to be wearing so many clothes."

She laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Damien Langley, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Is it working?"

"Maybe," she says, but her eyes are already darkening. "Though I have to warn you, the couch might not survive much more excitement."

"What about the bed?"

"The bed's already seen plenty of action last night. It's not used to it. I'm surprised it's still standing this morning."

"That's not the only thing still standing," I reply, leaning down to kiss her neck. "Maybe we should test the bed's structural integrity."

"You're insatiable," she laughs, but she's already melting against me.

I press my body against hers, letting her feel exactly how much I want her. "You bring out the worst in me," I murmur against her skin.

"The worst? I think I bring out the best in you. The part that knows how to have fun."

"Maybe you're right," I admit, cupping her face with one hand while the other grips her hip. "Maybe you're exactly what I needed."

"A chaotic in-home animal shelter manager with mismatched silverware and a condemned couch?"

"Perfect, in other words," I say, looking into her eyes. Then I kiss her—slow and deep, pouring everything I can't say into the contact. She tastes like coffee and bacon and something sweeter, and I can't get enough.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. My hands have found their way under her tank top, and hers are tangled in my hair.

"Maybe you’re right about the bed," she whispers against my lips. “We should test it one more time.”

"Only once?" I reply, already planning all the ways I'm going to make her scream my name again.

As she takes my hand and pulls me toward the bedroom, Irealize I've never felt this combination of desire and tenderness before. It's not just about the sex—though God knows that's incredible. It's about her. About wanting to wake up in her chaos every morning and fall asleep with her laughter as the last thing I hear.

Fuck. I'm in so much trouble here.

But as she smiles over her shoulder at me, her eyes full of want and something softer, I know I wouldn't have it any other way.

CHAPTER 22

WILLOW

"Sixthousand?" I balk, trying to fathom the cost of the cocktail dress I saw in the window of Bella's Boutique.

"It's hand-beaded," the saleswoman says, her smile a bit tight around the edges.

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