Page 78 of Six Month Wife
Parker chuckles, leaning forward to set his glass on the coffee table. “Okay, I admit. I came on a little strong. We were both stressed. How about a truce?”
I grin. “Nope. I’m owning that meltdown. All me.”
He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still think I could’ve dialed it back. My timing was off.”
I wave him off. “Stop.”
His eyes soften. “You weren’t out of line.”
“Maybe not full lunatic,” I admit. “But I'm edging into overly sensitive territory. I need to regroup.”
He watches me. “You’re complicated and sharp and maddening in all the right ways. It’s nice to know you’re a little sensitive under that steel spine and smart-ass mouth. In the best way, I mean.”
I shake my head, but his low laugh cuts through me, and I can’t help but laugh too.
Parker leans in, his gaze flicking to my lips. “Turns out, complicated’s kind of my thing.”
A quiet inhale stutters in my throat. “Oh, you like a challenge, huh?”
His voice drops. “Only when it’s worth it.”
Then he kisses me with no hesitation, no overthinking. Just warm, steady pressure and the kind of softness that makes my heart stutter.
Parker pulls me onto his lap, his hands settling on my waist as the kiss deepens. My body thrums with electricity, and suddenly the tension of the day melts completely away. For the first time in hours, I’m not thinking about Paul or the inheritance or my failing business. I’m only thinking about him.
I straddle him as my hands caress down his chest, feeling every hard line under my palms. His mouth drags along my jaw, warm and hungry.
“Adair,” he breathes, voice rough with need.
“Hmm?” My thoughts scatter as his fingers seize my hips, pulling me closer.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he says, like a confession. Like he means it.
My smile grazes his lips. “Then stop wasting time talking and show me.”
The sharp buzz of Parker’s phone on the nightstand cuts through the air.
He groans, lips still on my neck. “It might be my dad. He flies out today.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m really hoping Leeland doesn’t join us in bed.”
Parker leans over, grabbing the phone long enough to glance at the screen. “Not him.” He tosses the phone aside without another thought, and it lands face-up on the cushion.
We’re tangled again in seconds. Heat, skin, breathless murmurs. I grind against him with a slow, filthy rhythm, and he groans my name like a prayer.
Then, there's a faint click and a woman’s voice rises from pillows. "Hello? Heee-lowww-oooo."
It's bright, syrupy, and unmistakably smug as it cuts through the haze.
“Parky-poo? Is that you?”
I freeze, and every inch of me goes cold as it finally registers. It's that voice, the same one I heard on the video call last week. Soft, flirtatious, too damn familiar.
Parky-poo? What the absolute fuck?
He stiffens under me. “Shit,” he mutters, scrambling for the phone.
I’m already pulling away. “I'll leave you to your conversation, Parky-poo.”
