Page 78 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
My stomach churns.
Because the rational side of me is screaming This is insane! Walk—no RUN—away.
But the romantic soul that has me making a living writing love stories with tough, emotional, angsty themes—albeit with guaranteed happy endings—is telling me this is all I’ve dreamed about, all I’ve fantasized about.
A man like Gray doesn’t come around more than once in a lifetime.
And as scary as it is to think about what might happen if it all goes wrong, I already know what it’s like to be alone, to not have anyone to share my life with.
So to not take this chance to see what might happen between Gray and me…
Unfathomable.
“Gray,” I whisper when he doesn’t move.
I’m suddenly in his arms, his lips on mine, his soft groan vibrating along my tongue.
“Fuck, Red,” he whispers when his mouth finally releases mine, “I really like the sound of my name on your tongue.”
“I really just like your tongue.”
He chuckles.
Then sobers, running the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “The moment I held you in my arms, my life seem to realign.”
My heart skips a beat. “Probably the smoke inhalation,” I say lightly.
“It wasn’t the smoke.” He nuzzles at my hair. “Or the flames.”
“The heat?” I tease.
He tugs a strand of my hair, shakes his head. “Maybe I’m pathetic for admitting this, but I’m terrified too. If I felt for Courtney a modicum of what I’m feeling for you…” Another shake. “I don’t think I could have ever walked away from her.”
“But?” I ask, seeing the word written into the lines of his face.
“But it’s only been a couple of days,” he murmurs.
“And I was in love with a fantasy.”
His face gentles and I slip—or maybe I fall—a bit more in love with the real Gray. Especially when he gently tucks my hair behind my ears then draws me a little closer. “We hardly know each other, Red.”
“I know.” I lean back enough to meet his eyes. “But isn’t it going to be a blast getting to know each other, no matter where that leads us?”
He inhales in a rush, that big, broad chest rising on the influx of air.
Then he exhales, but he does it slowly, his mouth curving.
“Yeah, baby, it is.”
I smile, let him draw me into a long, slow kiss.
And when he releases me, taking my hand and tugging me into the family room, down onto the couch, then into the circle of his embrace, determined to make me a hockey fan once and for all, my heart is happy.
But as he searches for the remote, I can’t ignore the quiet, oh so quiet whisper that even though learning Gray is going to be great fun…
It still might end in heartbreak.
“You’re snoring.”
