26. When Venus Rises #3
And my heart does an annoying jig as I move next to him, where I want to be.
“Banks thinks I should get a dog,” he says.
“I said it first!”
He laughs, then kisses my shoulder again. “I know, Chloe. I know. I wasn’t saying you didn’t. Just like I wasn’t saying I didn’t want you at my house.”
“Oh,” I say, a little chagrined. “Are you going to get one?”
He waits for me to turn to look at him. When I do, his brown eyes are hopeful. “Maybe? I think so?”
I laugh. “I hear question marks.”
“I want to,” he says, like it costs him something, this admission. He swings his gaze from me to Captain, who must have been summoned by the conversation since my boy is standing in the doorway, tail wagging, eyes hopeful.
“It’s Captain, right? Who convinced you. He’s like the poster boy for adopting a dog.”
“You know, he can come to the daycare anytime. No charge.”
“Ooh, is that a benny of banging the owner?”
“Evidently it is. You should take advantage of it.”
“I will,” I say, then pat the bed, inviting the big guy to jump up. “Snuggle.”
With the word uttered, Captain trots over and jumps up, wedging himself between our legs.
“You taught him snuggle? Fuck, that’s cute,” Sawyer says, seeming totally enchanted.
“I can do that for your dog too,” I offer.
Sawyer arches a brow as he pats Captain’s head. “You’re assuming I’m getting one.”
I slide a little closer. “You are, Sawyer. You are.”
He slides closer too, cupping my face, then stroking my jawline. “We’ll see. It’s a big commitment,” he says, then shuts himself up by dropping a kiss to my lips.
A kiss that has my toes curling. My stomach flipping. And my mind erasing all those reasons why we’re supposed to be professional. Even though that word—commitment—echoes like a warning in my mind. If a dog’s a commitment, would a regular bang buddy be too much of one too?
Just ask.
I’m tempted, but when he breaks the kiss, I swallow the words once more, instead saying, “Are you a Virgo?”
He laughs. “I don’t know. Am I?”
“I’d bet dessert rights you are.”
“Confident much?”
I push up on an elbow, tracing his rose tattoo once more. “Are you?”
“My birthday’s in September,” he says, then gives me the date.
I give him a smug smile. “Yup. Knew it.”
“Fine. I’ll ask the next thing. How did you know?”
“It’s like a blinking marquee above your head.”
“Ha ha,” he says doubtfully.
“I mean it.”
“Yes, I figured as much, but why?”
“You’re precise. Analytical. A stickler. Driven—”
“I’m not a stickler.”
I arch a brow. “Sawyer.”
“I’m not. I’m not rigid. I’m not a rules guy…” But he trails off, maybe realizing he’s protesting too much.
“See?”
“I’m not admitting a thing.” He tips his chin toward me. “What are you? Wait. Let me guess.”
Oh this’ll be good. “Do you even know the signs of the zodiac?”
He roams his hand under my shirt and up my stomach. “You’re a troublemaker-i-corn. You’re a pain-in-the-ass-asaurus. You’re a wind-me-up-ra.”
I crack up. “Yes, I am.”
“So what are you?”
“Pisces,” I say.
“And the main traits of a Pisces are…sexy, chaotic, scrappy, feisty, looks on the bright side, sunshine, hot as fucking hell, beautiful, incredible, and drives me crazy?”
I preen. A lot. “Yes. We’re also intuitive.”
His hand spreads across my stomach. “And did your intuition tell you I’d make you scream in pleasure?”
I wriggle against his hand, savoring—no, basking like a cat, in this post-sex pillow talk. “Yes, and I was right, Mister Serious Boss. Who has a big secret.”
He shifts closer. “But see…now you know my secret. Maybe I’m not so cut and dried? Not so by the book? I surprised you, didn’t I?”
Hmm. He’s not wrong. “You’re a little right,” I admit.
He loops his arm around me, jerks me against him. Presses a kiss to my lips. “I have a dinner meeting later tonight,” he says, reluctance coloring his tone. The sound makes me wonder if he’s feeling this pull too.
“Is that code for karaoke?” I can’t hide my excitement. And if he is heading to Pour Decisions, I desperately hope he asks me to go.
But with a smile, he shakes his head. “No. Just a social media agency. It’s rigid, analytic, stickler stuff.”
“Not the Venus rising side of you?”
He gives a cocky grin, then pumps his hips against my leg. “I’d like to make my Venus rise in you again.”
Again.
There’s the opening, the chance to say something daring, risky, and terribly stupid. Like what are we doing and can we please do it again?
I’m gearing up to ask the question, and maybe he is, too, since he’s not making a move toward the door—he’s just staring off at the wall, a little lost in thought.
But when I part my lips to say his name in a hopeful question, a loud rap rattles me.
Someone’s knocking on the door. Captain flies off the bed, racing to the door, barking once, twice.
“Are you expecting someone?” Sawyer asks with concern in his voice.
“I’m not.”
“Want me to check?” he asks, popping out of bed and grabbing his shirt, a man ready to protect his woman.
“Yes please.”
He strides out of the bedroom, shoving his arms into his shirt as he goes. I follow, then blink in surprise when I see—Veronica on the other side of the door.