Page 95 of When We Had Forever
“Monopoly,” I say, apparently incapable of doing anything except parroting his words back to him.
A slow, sultry smile claims his mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the jerk. “Oh, come on, don’t look so disappointed. We could play for clothes this time, instead of secrets. If you want.”
“As in...strip Monopoly?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I straighten. My fingers have left his hair a tousled golden mess, and his mystery tattoo peeks out at me again.
The quiet flames of curiosity ignite beneath my skin, clearing my mind. “Actually...I like that idea. A lot.”
With a grin, he reaches past my shoulder to grab some paper plates. “I had a feeling you might.”
Like before, we sit by the fire, but this feels different. Last night, we were exploring one another, feeling each other out. Tonight, we trade smoldering glances that have nothing to do with the heat pouring from the hearth and everything to do with the fact that we’re two adults who already know exactly how this evening will end.
Our fingers brush as we whittle down the fries. The cheeseburgers disappear, too, and when we push the plates aside, Grayson stretches out on his side to take pulls of Scotch while I sip at my wine.
He hasn’t shed his jacket. Dots of perspiration glisten at his hairline.
I imagine catching one in my mouth, how the prickle of salt would blossom on my tongue. “Aren’t you hot in that?”
“I’m roasting. But I don’t have all that many clothes on, and I fully intend to get you naked first.”
My stomach clenches like a fist. I bury my face in my wine, trying to hide the hitch of my breath.
His smile turns lazy, leonine. Clearly, he sees right through me. “Now, are you ready for the dessert I brought?”
My gaze slips down his chest and beyond. I already know what enormous pleasure lies in store for me. And when I say enormous, I do mean—
“Hey.” He snaps his fingers and points to his face. “Eyes up here. I’m not a piece of meat, you know. And I didn’t meanthat.”
The burn of embarrassment saturates my cheeks. If he only knew. “Right. Sorry.”
“As I was saying, I brought you something. Do you have enough room for it?”
My face only flares brighter. “You’ll really need to find another way to phrase that.”
When his eyes round, I realize I’ve managed to throwhimoff-balance, for once. “I have a treat for you,” he says. “The kind that goes in your mouth.”
I shake my head, wordless.
“Jesus Christ. Does your mindlivein the gutter? I’m just going to go get it.” He plunks down his drink and disappears out the front door. A minute later, he reappears toting a plastic bag from Morton’s, the mom-and-pop grocery in Millbrook. He marches past.
I stay seated until the rush of blood in my cheeks fades. When Grayson starts banging around in the kitchen, I pluck up my wine and go to the doorway.
“What on earth are you doing?”
He crouches before an open cabinet and reaches toward the back for the sole remaining pot. “I’mtryingto cook. But your kitchen isn’t making it easy. Why’s this place so barren?”
“Because we’re selling the house.”
He glances over his shoulder, his scarred eyebrow skewing upward. “Really?”
“Yeah. By this time next week, I’ll be back in Seagrove, and this place’ll belong to someone else.”
He sets his scavenged pot on the stove. “Ah. Sothat’swhy you wouldn’t give me more time?”
“No.” I tip the last of the wine into my mouth and trash the cup. I don’t even need another drink. Something far more potent than alcohol zips around in my veins. “I wouldn’t give you more time because I didn’t feel like it.”
