Page 15 of Married to Number 22
“You’re all grown up, Aiden Black.”
“Sheets and a rug?” He laughs. “That’s all it takes?”
“Yup.” I shrug as well as I’m able. “Or, well, those and the curtains and the matching furniture and the artwork.”
He chuckles, shakes his head, lightly tapping the tip of my nose. “What about your bedroom? What color are the sheets?”
I don’t mean to. It just…slips out. “Why?” I tease. “So you can imagine me naked in them later?”
His eyes go molten, burning into mine. “No, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sliding one big, warm hand along my side. “If I’m going to imagine you anywhere, it’s beneath me inmybed.”
“But you…” My brow furrows even as my body inches closer to his, seeking out the heat and strength of him.
“I what?” he presses.
I nibble my lip but don’t bother prevaricating. This is Aiden.MyAiden. “You stopped us last night.”
His expression gentles, that hand stills, resting on my hip, thumb tracing back and forth, back and forth. “I don’t think you were in the right frame of mind, do you?”
He’s right.
I was…
Well, not in theright frame of mindis pretty much the nicest thing that someone could say about the tangle of desperation and need, desire and fondness and attraction for the man I’m currently sprawled half on top of.
“And that adorable wrinkle of your nose tells me that I’m right but you don’t want to admit it.”
My nose wrinkles further.
He chuckles. Then taps the tip of it. “So… that marriage contract.”
I tense.
Which is precisely the wrong thing to do.
It tells him his fishing expedition is right.
And I’m not ready to talk about it—don’t have a good excuse to make him forget all about it before I take myself and my problems back out of his life.
So, I enact evasive maneuvers.
“Aiden?” I ask softly.
“Yeah, Luns?”
God, I love that he still hardly ever calls me my real name—it’s always Luns or sweetheart or tiny tornado (though I’m not so tiny any longer).
Focus.
“So was the whole stopping the kiss thing last night because you were being a gentleman?” I ask, settling my hand on his chest, feeling the muscles there tighten. “Or,” I whisper, “was it because I was doing something youdidn’twant?”
His hand on my hip tightens and then he draws me a little closer.
Close enough for me to feel the hard length of his erection.
“Doesthatfeel like you were doing something I don’t want?”
I shrug as well as I’m able to in this position. “That proves nothing.”
