Page 62 of Filthy Rich Temptation
She’s something else entirely.
I try to play it cool, run a hand through my hair – and grimace when I feel the yoghurt still clinging there. ‘You look a damn sight better than me, that’s for sure.’
She laughs softly and steps closer, bending to grab a baby wipe from the crumpled pack by the sofa. Then she’s in my space – warm, perfumed, dangerously close. She reaches up, fingers threading through my hair, and I curl mine into fists to keep them tame. I can’t breathe. Can’t think…
She’s focused on cleaning me up, but all I can think about is making a mess of her, of me, of us.
Her perfume’s dizzying. Her breath, warm against my jaw. And when she bites her lip – that soft, absent nip she does when she’s nervous or concentrating – it’s no longer sweet. It’s lethal.
And she has no idea how hot she is. How can that be possible?
It’s wrong. Fucked up. And I…
I don’t care any more. Shehasto know.
‘You look good, Sades,’ I rasp out. ‘Reallygood.’
She stills, her eyes meeting mine, and I swear she sees it all.
The hunger. The torment. The fucking desperation.
Her blue depths widen, breath catching. ‘Theo?’
I take the wipe from her hand, but instead of pulling away, I lace my fingers through hers and pull her in. She comes easy, brushing up against me, and my body spasms. Every muscle coiling tight. Every nerve catching fire. Every thought narrowing down to one…
I wet my bottom lip and bow my head, catching her trembling breath as her glossy mouth parts, and?—
‘I did a trump!’
A triumphant raspberry explodes from hip height and we spring apart like guilty teens. Lottie!
Sadie blushes red and bites her lip, shoulders shaking with flustered laughter while I press the wipe to my face and die.
I’m not sure what’s greater, the relief or the regret.
Either way, Lottie – the Queen of Timing – nails it.
And I tell myself to run with relief. Drown inthe gratitude.
‘It was a big one!’ she crows proudly, and even I can’t stop the laughter now.
‘Okay, that’s definitely your cue to leave.’
Sadie gives me a smile that lingers – eyes questioning, burning, wanting – even as her words shift back to business. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay with the trump monster here?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say, ruffling Lottie’s hair – andugh, more yoghurt. ‘Reckon I’ve got a gas mask about here somewhere.’
She laughs, then tilts her head. ‘And the whole bath and bed routine?’
‘You mean the routine you’ve outlined in forensic detail?’ I smirk, though my lower body’s feeling anything but smug. ‘Yeah, I’ve got this. Or don’t you trust me?’
‘Of course I trust you. More than trust you.’ She softens. ‘I’m so grateful to you, Theo. These past two weeks… they’ve been the best. And having your company too.’
Yeah. My company.
Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. I’ve been there.
Every spare minute around work, I’ve made sure of it.
