9. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Lucy
S ix hours later, I pull the truck into a little gravel driveway that leads to a brick house with a lovely front porch. The house is two-story, and the wooden porch is seducing my attention. Hanging swings call to me; I’m dying to sit on one and write while the crickets sing and stars shine overhead. Maybe I’ll do that tonight while Stone is away at the bachelor party. I don’t want to impose too much on Stone’s mama while he’s not with me.
Speaking of…
“Are you sure I shouldn’t run to a gas station and clean up more?” I ask Stone, who is biting his bottom lip as to not burst at the seams at my condition.
After we ate at a cute little diner in the middle of nowhere, I had the misfortune of running over a nail, resulting in a flat tire. Fortunately, he had a spare on hand, but unfortunately, I had hit the man in the face with a small cast iron skillet earlier in the day.
Which meant I had to assist in a tire change.
And now I am a certified grease monkey .
R.I.P. to my floral skirt and white top.
“This is Small Town, Mississippi, Lucy. This place is smaller than Juniper Grove. The only people who will see you this evening are my mom, Brother Johnny, and possibly my sister and her husband. But look around.”
I do as he says, noting there is only a brown Tacoma in the driveway.
“See,” he says. “That’s Brother Johnny’s truck, which means only he and Mom are home right now.”
“But shouldn’t I make a good impression on your mom?”
He laughs and opens the door of the truck. “The fact that you are here, my little lion, is enough to make the grandest impression of all.”
My insides flip upside down at his new nickname for me. I can imagine it’s stemming from my lion-like appearance this morning in my apartment, which is an every morning thing for me regardless if a man is breaking in or not. I could be upset by it, but something in the rich, smooth tone of voice he uses when he says it tells me it's an endearing term, not something he is using to mock me for my morning looks.
Stone closes the door, but I’m still clutching the steering wheel, feeling like I really should back out of this driveway and go attempt to better clean this grease off my skin and change my clothes. The wipes in the truck didn’t cut it, and by the time we made it to a restroom stop, the stains had set and Stone wouldn’t give me time to change due to the fact that we were already running so late.
The man is punctual; I’ll give him that.
My door opens, and Stone holds out a hand for me to take as I quite literally drop out of his lifted truck.
Don’t even get me started on how terrified I was driving this monstrosity all day long.
Once I’m solidly on my feet, I smooth down my skirt and grimace at the grease stains on my white shirt. I open the back door of the truck and dig inside my bag for my coat. Who cares that it’s the middle of June in Mississippi? I HAVE to cover this dingy shirt.
Stone is laughing at me as I zip up my plain black cotton jacket. I ignore him and throw my backpack on my back and toss my duffle bag over one shoulder. Then I remember my purse in the front seat and grab it.
Stone grabs his things then bounds up the five wooden steps that lead from the ground to the porch, and within three giant steps, he’s in front of the door and knocking. I rush up beside him as the screen door opens, revealing a short, older woman who has graying hair and wrinkles in her skin but whose eyes are bright regardless of their steel-gray color.
He must have his father’s eyes, I think to myself.
Those steel gray eyes of hers widen to the size of softballs as she takes us in. “Did you two get in a wreck on your way here?”
Stone side-eyes me, and I stifle a laugh.
“More like I got beat up this morning, which resulted in Lucy here having to change our blown tire on the drive down,” Stone says with a half-hearted wink in my direction, wincing at the action.
“Hi, Mrs.—” I glance at Stone, realizing he forgot to tell me her married name.
Thankfully, she speaks up. “Clark. But you can just call me Marian, honey.”
I clear my throat. “Hi, Marian. I’m Lucy Spence.” I hold my hand out to her, but she disregards it and takes a step out the door, wrapping me into the biggest hug I’ve ever experienced in my life.
On instinct, I hug her back as well as I can around my bags.
Because unlike my twin sister, who can’t stand touch, I very much like warm hugs.
And this embrace feels like Mama’s.
I miss Mama even though she only left a couple of weeks ago back on her cross-country road trip with Dad.
“Be careful with who you’re hugging, Mom,” Stone says, a tease in his voice. “She’s the little gangster thug who beat me up this morning.”
His mama laughs, a rich but aged sound. “Oh, come in and tell me that story, Lucy. I’m hoping you knocked some sense into that boy.”
I follow the woman dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt of a Shakespeare play company that reads “Saved by the Grace of Southern Charm” into the house. Immediately, I buzz with energy and life. The living room is cluttered but not in a messy way. There are pictures all over the walls, and I’m itching to get a closer look. The desire to see Stone throughout all the stages of life—from wee diapers to the cute single-digit years all the way up to the awkward middle school years and into his homme fatale high school years—is strong.
I knew about him in college well enough. He played football, and I was a cheerleader. He hit on me once at a party, but I don’t think he remembers it. He was only a freshman at the time and had had a little too much to drink.
Instinctively, my eyes find him off to the side. He’s standing with his arms crossed and feet spread while sporting a cocked eyebrow, which lets me know he knows exactly what I want—to view him in all his years-gone-by glory—and he’s already vetoed the idea.
Ha, as if it were up to him. He’s going to be gone in an hour, and I’ll have free range to roam to my heart’s content.
“Have a seat, Lucy, dear. Do you want some coffee, sweet tea, or water?”
“Water would be nice.”
“I’ll fix you up a glass.” And with that, Marian hobbles off into the kitchen area off to the left of the living room. Stone still stands on the right-hand side in front of stairs that lead to the second floor.
“Your mother is a gem,” I say. Sure, I just met her, but I can already tell I want to keep her.
“She’s kind of the best,” Stone agrees with love in his eyes, and the way he peers into the kitchen with gentle care while glasses clink and cabinets shut brings my melting point down to whatever the temperature is in this house currently.
I’ll be a little gooey puddle on this hardwood floor if Stone turns that expression on me at any point.
“Here you go, Lucy,” Marian says, handing me a glass of ice water. “Sit down, now, girl. Let’s chat while I send Stone upstairs with your luggage.”
“Really, Mom? I’m injured,” Stone says.
“Oh, you’ve seen worse injuries than that, son.” She waves a hand and sits next to me on the well-worn couch.
“Oh, it’s okay!” I interject. “I’m the one who gave him a possible concussion.” I side-eye the man standing in front of the stairs. “He wouldn’t let the doctors test him, but that means I get to wake him up every two hours.”
“What is with my children returning home to me injured with possible concussions?” She shakes her head and clicks her tongue.
“Did something happen to your sister?” I ask Stone with a curious glance.
He laughs. “You’ll have to ask her about the Suitcase Incident.”
Noted. I’m always on the hunt for real stories to include in my books.
“But, I do need to run upstairs and freshen up for the bachelor party tonight.” Stone cuts his eyes from his mother to me. “You two ladies don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That’s a narrow list, Mr. Harper,” I say with an edge to my voice, forgetting I can easily use his first name now that I am his pretend girlfriend. In fact, I should have used his first name. Ugh. I’m already screwing this up.
He saunters over to me like a panther on the prowl, hooks his finger underneath my chin, and kisses me on the forehead. He mumbles against my skin, “I like it when you call me Mr. Harper when we’re not at work.”
Though my temperature is rising and my face is burning—I might be on the verge of spontaneous combustion according to the way my body is humming—I distinctly remember him saying he liked it when I used his first name. He’s saving my butt right now, and for that, I’m grateful. I should have known he wouldn’t be shy of affection in front of his family.
And that’s when I remember I forgot to do the most crucial task when embarking on a fake dating scheme…
“We should set some ground rules,” I whisper to where only he can hear since his head is still level with mine.
He chuckles lightly, his smile crinkling the corner of his beautiful but blackened eyes.
“Later.” He winks then winces at the action before snatching my luggage and ascending the creaky, wooden stairs.
“Whew, that was some heat straight from hell.” I turn, slack-jawed, to face Stone’s mother, who is busy fanning herself with her hand while sporting a wicked grin. It makes her look youthful and full of inappropriate mischievousness.
Now I see exactly where my playboy boss gets his personality from.
I laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I should probably get cleaned up. I’m kind of a grease monkey right now.”
“You just want to follow my son upstairs.” The gleam in her gray eyes causes my face to flush. My immediate reaction is to object, but I am his girlfriend for the weekend, and I’m sure any woman of Stone’s would want to follow him upstairs.
But I’m not just any woman, even if we are playing pretend.
“Nonsense.” I swat my hand in front of my face, schooling my expression into a soft, loving smile. “That man chases after me, not the other way around. ”
Marian’s smile widens, revealing a line of white teeth that adds to her youthfulness. “My, my. You just might be the one, then.”
Her blatant admission leaves me speechless. Me? The one for Stone Harper? It’s humorous, and I desperately want to laugh, but I strangle the outburst with a cord.
Instead of laughing at the impossible, I play coy.
With a slight tilt of my head, I ask, “You think so? We haven’t talked about the future.”
She chuckles but then presses her lips into a contemplative line. “You’re the second girlfriend of his that I’m meeting. And the first one was years ago while the two of them were in high school, so it wasn’t necessarily a meeting. I’d known her and her family for a while.”
“I, uh… huh?” Wow. Way to be literate, Little Miss Writer.
Marian rests her hand on my knee in a loving way that only mothers seem to be capable of. “Don’t let it scare you, darling girl. I just wanted you to know that this is a big deal for me. And for him, whether he realizes it or not. We’ve heard so much about you, and the way he talks about you… He’s smitten. You’ve done something to my son.”
It’s all an act, though. He’s been playing a part in a play that I had no inkling I was cast in. This is an episode of Punk’d , and I'm the unsuspecting star. I’m not scared. Not at the idea that Stone Harper sees forever when he looks at me, at least. That’s an obvious, emphatic no. But I’m growing fearful by the second that I’m going to break this sweet woman’s heart when Stone tells them we’re over.
“Thank you for telling me,” I finally respond .
A balding older man with kind eyes and a warm smile enters the room from somewhere behind the kitchen.
“Hi. You must be Lucy.” He reaches out his hand, and I shake it while verifying his assessment. “I’m Johnny, but most people seem to think my first name is Brother. I’m this beautiful woman’s doting husband.”
I watch the way his brown eyes fall on Marian. There are oceans of love swimming in them, and I’d like to think that one day a man will look at me that way. I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on a life that doesn’t belong to me, and the incommodious moment spurs me to action.
Standing up, I feign a yawn and stretch. “It’s really nice to meet you. I better get upstairs and ask Stone to show me my room so I can get cleaned up and ready for bed. It was a long trip. I’m not sure how Stone is capable of going out tonight.”
I do understand because I’m nowhere near tired, though I do yearn for hot water, strawberry-smelling soap, and a round of listening to 1989 by Taylor Swift.
We chat for a few more minutes before I go upstairs and turn down the small hallway with three doors, two on the left and one farther down on the right. There are pictures lining the wall, old school photos of Stone and what must be his older sister. As I pad across the wooden floor, smiling at the pictures of their childhood, the door at the end of the hallway opens, and a very shirtless, only-wearing-a-grey-towel version of Stone steps into my view. He’s running a hand through his wet hair while his bicep flexes, and my eyes drop to his bare chest without my permission. He has a smattering of light hair that disappears before reaching his abs. All eight of them. Leading to a prominent…
No, Lucy. Stop it!
My face heats as I snap my eyes back to Stone’s bruised but handsome face only to find him frozen with his hand in his hair, eyes narrowed at me. Like a bird of prey who’s zoned in on an unbeknownst victim.
And he looks ravenous.
Doing what I should have done in the first place, I avert my eyes and turn my back to him. “I’m sorry,” I squeak out. “I didn’t realize you would be… in the state that you are,” I dumbly finish.
Somewhere behind me, a ghost of a laugh echoes off the walls. “No need to apologize. You are my girlfriend for the weekend.”
Choosing to ignore the suggestion, mostly because I know he’s toying with me and isn’t serious, I blurt, “Which room is mine?”
I feel the heat from his body behind me before I hear his released breath. “First door by the stairs. It was my sister’s room, so it should be to your liking. Would you like me to show you around it?”
Acting on impulse, I turn around and splay one hand across his chest, glaring into his eyes.
Big mistake.
That’s one very nice chest.
A chest carved into a marbled Roman statue. A chest worthy of lines of lyrical prose. A chest only read about in romance novels. My eyes drop down his body and land on his massive tanned legs sticking out like tree trunks from the short towel. What would it feel like to have those wrapped around my waist… ?
Snap out of it, Lucy!
“No.” I bark out, then, remembering his mother and a PASTOR is downstairs, I lower my voice to a whispered hiss. “Stop flirting with me and trying to get us locked in a room together. I might fall in love with you.” There. That’ll scare him.
He blinks once, then twice, before a smile crawls slowly up his clean, handsome face. “I like it when you’re bossy. Keep that up and I’ll fall for you.”
“Ugh!” I roll my eyes and turn back around, taking a few steps to reach the room I’ll be staying in. He might fall for me? Surely he was poking fun at me saying I could fall for him…
After I enter and close the door, Stone speaks from the other side.
“I hear you, Lucy. I can’t promise you I won’t flirt with you because, let’s be honest, it’s who I am, but I do promise not to step over any line you draw with me. I will try. I don’t want to intentionally play with your emotions.” His voice is rough and serious, and I want to crack the door open to see if his light brows are pinched in deep thought. I’m curious to know if his lips are pressed into a line or if they are folded into his mouth. His voice, with the edge it carried, makes it sound like he’s battling inside his brain, but the question is, what’s he fighting? Attraction to me? The idea that though he says he doesn’t play with a woman’s emotions, he probably does? Actual feelings for me… so much so that he can’t stop wickedly flirting with me when I’m around?
Ha, I snort. That’s a harebrained thought.
I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered downstairs and slipped out of the house.
Stone still hasn’t come back.
No, don’t focus on that. Focus on… the sounds around you.
The cicadas sing a harmonious tune with the crickets.
If I were describing the sound in a novel, I might paint it a soul-stirring sound that waxes and wanes to a tune of somber smiles. Or maybe that’s my melancholic mind twisting a golden cheerful chirp into suffocating waves of blue.
Dew sticks to my bare arms; the baby hairs that usually fly around my face and neck are tamed by the dense water in the air. My thighs stick to the wooden swing beneath me.
I open my laptop and attempt to adjust my position. The moment I move my legs, it’s as if a band-aid is ripping off my skin. Not a flimsy band-aid, but one of those heavy-duty waterproof ones. I wince, taking the pain like the southern woman I am, then cross my legs underneath me.
After pulling up my writing software, I open the story I’ve started to play around with in my head. I should apply the edits to my merman story, but something about this stoic, misunderstood vampire is beckoning my attention.
And by stoic, misunderstood vampire, I mean the centuries-old man who absolutely loves being a vampire and wouldn’t trade it for the world .
Heh. Enter: odd but beautiful human woman who will restart his cold, dead heart. I laugh maniacally to myself and then remember I am not alone in my apartment and probably shouldn’t cackle like a witch.
The thought is a bucket of cold water on the little fire of passion that was attempting to ignite within me. I’ve been sleeping in my space alone ever since Lorelei moved out mere weeks ago. The first night I cried myself to sleep and woke up way too late the next morning because Lorelei wasn’t there to make little noises around the house alerting me to the rising sun. Thank goodness I had taken off work.
The following days and nights passed in what I refer back to as a Gaussian blur. Last night, I was up into the wee hours of the morning, writing to take my mind off Loneliness sitting in the dark corner of my room. I think I forgot to eat. Or maybe I snacked on chips at one point?
It’s probably a huge red flag indicating I should seek some help, but I think it’s only an adjustment period. I’ll get over this hump. Change is hard whether it’s good change or bad change, and overall, Lorelei moving and getting engaged is a good change. It’s a good change that I am facing solitude after twenty-six years of having people in my sphere of living. I have to grow, and while I might not like these growing pains I’m faced with, I can acknowledge that, at some point, I will bloom from the dense, dark dirt I am entombed under.
“We are just fine,” I whisper to myself as I wipe a single tear from my eye. “Now, what reason does a centuries-old vampire need to fake date a beautiful human woman? ”
As I brainstorm the question I’ve been ruminating over for a couple of days, I find myself drifting off, thinking of Stone and this situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.
Excuse me.
That he has dragged me into.
Kicking and screaming.
And throwing cast iron skillets.
Okay, I said yes pretty easily, but I mean, who wouldn’t? A taste of Stone Harper without the fear of attachment and then abandonment? Yes, please. But that’s why our state of affairs is mussed. My attraction to him is off the charts and the feelings are reciprocated.
It’s not an arguable point, however.
Attraction does not equal love, and I require love.
Love is something I don’t think he is capable of giving me, especially now that I’ve gotten a glimpse of the man behind the curtain. He’s been burned by Lacey. I once thought he might have been the one lighting the match, but upon further reflection of the encounter outside of Perry’s Seafood, I think it was Lacey who struck it. She looked sad, but it wasn’t a scorned lover’s sadness. No, that’s what Stone looked like. She looked like the one who lost a friend due to her own misgivings.
Is she the reason he’s like this? Afraid to commit?
Stone says he doesn’t intentionally seek to hurt women emotionally. I’d like to know more about that, but honestly, what’s the point? He’s not mine to explore and figure out, no matter how I adjust the picture and attempt to look at various angles .
I hear his motorcycle before I see the light coming down the driveway.
Stone.
His name in my inner thoughts is spoken like it’s a breath of fresh air after spending the day in a city of smog. Like coming home after a long vacation.
No, ma’am. You stop that right now.
It’s my nighttime companion, Loneliness, talking. It’s the physical attraction manifesting in my head as something more.
You’ve battled this before. You know the signs of the beginning of war. Take up armor.
The light clicks off.
You’re excusing away his playboy behavior with weak observations that you hope are true. We aren’t supposed to justify behaviors anymore, remember?
The motorcycle shuts off. What would it be like to ride behind him on that thing?
You’re attaching yourself to a possible idea of him you’re piecing together in your mind.
He emerges under the porch light, walking down the pathway and up the stairs, his eyes zeroed in on me with an upward tug to his lips.
You’re letting the attraction fester into lust because there is no way you love this man.
“Hi, Lucy May,” he says with allurement in his tone. All my previous thoughts vanish in a wisp of smoke. He’s wearing pale pink shorts that rest an inch above his knees and a tight white t-shirt under an open white button down. His effortlessly hot look is complete with a pair of white sneakers. “Like what you—” he says, but then stops, snapping his mouth closed.
I come to my senses. “What I what?”
He clicks his tongue and pops his mouth with his hand. “I was about to flirt with you, but I caught myself.” Stone sits down next to me on the swing, causing it sway back and forth, and I relish in the gentle breeze.
“Right. Thank you.” I almost regret telling him not to flirt with me. Since when has he listened to my requests, anyways?
“What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I sometimes struggle sleeping in new environments.” I lean my head back and close my eyes as we move back and forth, the wind kissing my face and cooling off the misty summer heat of the night. Why did I admit that to him exactly?
“I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”
I jolt, my laptop wobbling on top of my thighs. I narrow my eyes at him when realization hits that he’d been staring at me. At my expression, he puffs out a little laugh.
“I didn’t mean that in a flirty way.” His gaze moves upward before he tilts his head and closes his eyes, a look of peace transfixing his bruised face. “Genuinely trying to help. What do you need? Warm milk? Melatonin? Tea?” He barely opens one blackened eye and peeks over at me. “A massage?”
I want to be mad and shove him, but I can’t because I know he is honestly messing with me and not attempting to flirt. Even if I wish he was…
But for good measure, I do elbow him.
“Violent, Little Lion.” He tsks and closes his eye .
“Only when necessary.”
He laughs, and I join, kind of digging this side of him. Even though his eyes and nose are as bruised as a dropped apple, he looks tranquil sitting here in the middle of the night on his mother’s front porch swing.
I have the urge to ask him about Lacey again—or for clarification about what he said regarding women’s emotions—but I refrain with a bite of my lip. He’s being what I presume to be his authentic self. He’s not Mr. Harper right now. He’s not a playboy trying to win all the ladies.
He’s just Stone.
A young man who’s home for a weekend surrounded by people who love him, cherish him, and support him.
As the swing starts dwindling down to a stop, I realize I haven’t taken my eyes off him yet.
Worse yet, I’m authentically smiling. Teeth and all.
I fix my face before he opens his eyes, chastising myself as I hold my laptop to get up and go inside.
Stone grabs my wrist. “Wait, Lucy. You mentioned you wanted to set ground rules for our time here in Dasher Valley.”
Right. Of course I did.
“What did you have in mind?” he continues. His touch doesn’t let up, heating a branding ring around my wrist.
Maybe it’s the time. Nothing good happens after midnight, am I right?
Maybe it’s the innocent look of genuine care and concern in his eyes. They sure do sparkle under the hanging outdoor porch lights.
Maybe it’s the loneliness I’ve been experiencing for quite some time, which has only gotten worse as everyone I know finally begins their own lives with husbands and kids.
Maybe it’s the hot, countryside air filling up the space under a misty moonlight…
“One rule,” I begin, swallowing a lump in my throat. I know the next words out of my mouth are a signature on a contract that I’ll regret signing come morning light. “Whatever happens in Dasher Valley stays in Dasher Valley. Are we clear?”
Stone’s lips twitch, a fraction of a smile forming. His eyes dance, two stormy blue pools of building desire. “That’s one rule I’ll willingly follow, Lucy May.”
Without thinking, my gaze drops to his full lips.
He tugs my arm, and I fall against the swing, gripping my laptop so it doesn’t crash onto the porch. He releases my wrist and takes the laptop from me, setting it onto the floor underneath the swing. When his eyes lock with mine again, something I had buried deep inside me awakens, clawing its way to the surface and begging to be set free.
I can’t tell who gives the final stamp of permission to move. Is it when his gaze flicks to my mouth as he mindlessly licks his top lip? Is it when my hand moves on its own accord, coming to a rest on his upper thigh as if to stake my territory?
Before I can so much as blink, his lips connect with mine as one hand tangles in my hair, tugging me into him as if he can’t get close enough. His other hand splays across my back, burning a hole through the thin fabric, and I tilt my head for a better angle. As he parts our lips, groaning into my mouth, sizzling electricity travels down to my toes. My head swims with his intoxicating taste, and if I could, I would crawl into his skin to know him fully and eternally.
I’ve never before been kissed like this.
Felt like this.
And I’d gamble to say it will never happen again.
Who would be so lucky as to experience getting their DNA re-written more than once in a lifetime?
Visions swim in my head, much like when I’m writing a story, as we give into months of building attraction.
Stone and I tangled in plaid sheets. A royal ball. Stone, in a tux, carrying me over the threshold of a doorstep while I wear a white gown. Me writing at a desk in an unknown house. Stone throwing a baseball with one boy while tossing a football with the other. Twin boys. A book I haven't written on the big screen.
Explosions.
I throw myself backwards, which forces the swing to move, flinging me off and onto my butt on the wooden planks of the porch. From my lowered position, I stare up at Stone, who’s breathless and already standing, steadying the swing from its wild movements before it swings back to hit me. He reaches out his hand, and all I can think about is how moments ago he had it tangled in my hair, delivering the best kiss of my existence.
I knew he’d be good.
But not that good.
When I don’t take his hand because my brain is still fuddled with his kiss, he sits down on the porch beside me. All of the twisting and swirling feelings inside me dance around, asking—no begging—for more of him, when he casually fingers the stray hairs that have fallen in front of my face. I release a deep breath in an attempt to regain composure, and he tucks the hair behind my ear, fingertips caressing the sensitive skin.
“Lucy…”
“Give me a moment.” I hold up one finger, taking deep breaths in and releasing them slowly. What have I done?
I kissed my playboy boss.
On the front porch of his childhood home.
And… I KISSED MY BOSS.
We work together. I have to pretend he didn’t resurrect my dead soul with the electricity in his lips come Monday.
“What happens in Dasher Valley stays in Dasher Valley, Lucy May. Remember? Don’t think too much about what happens when we are back at work.”
He grabs my hand I held up and kisses the tip of my pointed finger. I stare wide-eyed and a smidge hypnotized. Stone smirks, folds my finger down, then kisses my knuckles. “Are you still worrying about Monday?”
I shake my head, but then I say, “Well, I am now that you mention it.”
“Hm.” He pauses, moving to sit on his knees, and kisses the inside of my elbow. “And now?”
“If you keep reminding me, how will I stop thinking about it?” I ask, breathless and jittery with anticipation.
“Maybe I keep reminding you because I want an excuse to keep making you forget.” He kisses the top of my shoulder, and I can’t hold in my sigh. Somewhere, deep down, I know I’m going to regret every moment of this .
But right now is not that time.
Feeling emboldened by his free show of desire, I pucker my lips into a moue. “My lips miss your attention, Mr. Harper. Maybe if you appease their longing for you, I’ll forget about Monday.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You long for me?”
My face burns hotter than it already was. I open my mouth to protest, to tell him it was Romance Writer Brain’s fault, but he captures my lips with his, effectively removing any semblance of embarrassment I felt.