Page 89 of Not That Ridiculous

The arm around my waist tightened. “Don’t tell me you have unopened packing boxes in your bedroom, too,” he said with a low laugh.

I stiffened.

Kevin stiffened. “Charlie?”

“Listen,” I said, plucking at his arm. We were halfway up the stairs. My room was clean. I’d tidied it earlier. That wasn’t the problem here.

It was just…

Kevin had thesestandardsthat I hadn’t been aware of until recently, and I was starting to think that clean and tidy wasn’t enough, and I should have found time to redecorate it as well.

“There are no unopened boxes,” I said. There were no unopened boxesvisible. There were a few under the bed. He didn’t need to know that. “The thing is,” I continued, “it’s about the same level of finished as my kitchen. Don’t go expecting a boudoir or anything.”

“Oh my god. Aboudoir. I want to make you a boudoir.”

“I don’t?—”

“A sexy one.”

“I don’t…? What does a sexy boudoir look like anyway?”

He was moving me up the stairs again, and we were going at speed. “Mirrors,” he breathed in my ear.

“Hell, no.”

“Bit of gold. Maybe some velvet.”

“Sounds like a brothel, not a boudoir. I think I’m more of a Scandinavian kind of guy. French farmhouse? Coastal? I’m not really sexy enough for a boudoir, and?—”

Kevin turned me in his arms at the top of the stairs and kissed me breathless. “You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life,” he said. “I’ve already come about how sexy you are three times today, and I’m gonna do it again any minute. Enough of that nonsense.” He grabbed my arse. “More of this.”

“Yes,” I said. “If you can keep your mind on the job and stop getting distracted by my house.”

“It’s a cute house with a lot of potential and I want to make it a home for you so much Charlie. Don’t freak out about it, but I’ve drawn up a project plan. It’s in a binder and everything.”

“What?”

“But when it comes down to you or the house? Pfft. It’s you. You, you, you.” He shifted against me restlessly. “I like a professional challenge and all, but come on. Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

“Uh, no?”

“Fucking ages.” He turned me again, smacked my arse, and shoved me ahead of him.

“Wrong room. This is the bathroom,” I said when he wrangled me through the first door we came to.

He wrangled me back out, thankfully not getting distracted by the abundance of beige and the sagging floor, and shuffled me along the landing to the next room. “This you?” he said.

“Yes.”

He made a hungry sound and propelled me through the door.

17

He turned me around and kissed me hard, making me gasp and grab at him for balance as he walked me backwards until my legs hit the mattress.

Then he shifted his grip to hold my ribs, hefted me clean off the floor, and tossed me onto the bed.

The headboard fell off.

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