Page 98 of When We Had Forever
My teeth snap together. “You did?”
“Yeah. They’ve been bugging me to do another one ever since, but I’ve been so swamped withNat Geothat I haven’t gotten around to it. They’re great to work with, though. Really accommodating. If you want, I can drop Siobhan a line and tell her you’re a friend. You having the same last name might make her wonder, but she’ll probably do you a favor if I ask nicely.”
My fingers flutter against the base of my throat. Briefly, I wonder whether I should insist on succeeding on my own merit, but I’m not twenty-two anymore, and I’ve been around long enough to realize writing’s a brutal business. A nobody like me needs all the help she can get. “You’d do that? For me?”
“I’d do—” He bites his lip. Changes course. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I mean,thank youthank you. This is...” I cast around for more.
His lips cock into a smile. “This is...what? A writer at a loss for words?”
“This is...extraordinarily kind of you,” I enunciate. “A staggering and unprecedented demonstration of generosity.” Then, more normally, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“You’re going to repay me in about ten minutes.”
I shift, but no amount of rearranging will calm the sudden flutter his confidence evokes. He’s doing it again.
“Maybe five,” he says.
A tiny, eager sound climbs up my throat, and our eyes lock. His fill with a naked, scorching desire that carves a smoking path down my middle.
And then there’s no pretending anymore. No stalling. The entire room heats, melting to a liquid swirl of supple light and blue-green eyes that make me go soft around the edges.
Grayson licks his lips and tosses the dice. And lands on Marvin Gardens. Which belongs to me.
He’s already left his shoes and socks by the door, but instead of peeling off his shirt like I expect, he stands up and shucks his jeans, revealing bright red boxer briefs and long, muscled legs. His quads are so defined that they curve inward above his kneecaps, two halves of an inverted heart.
My god. Between that and the bulge...
I don’t know what to do with my eyes, so I just leave them where they are. Screw it. It’s not likehewould look away.
With a knowing smile, he sits back down—cross-legged this time, probably so he can taunt me with the visual feast. “Your turn.”
I tame the tremble in my fingers long enough to roll, then land on his property, of course. Baltic Avenue. Damn. I’ve always mocked those cheap purple ones, but not now.
When I don’t move, he asks, “Do you need help with that sock?”
I roll off my stomach and mirror his sit. “Actually, yes.” Extending a leg over the board, I set my foot in his lap.
He takes hold of me and frowns, clearly realizing by touch alone that something isn’t right. Sure enough, when he peels off my sock, another one awaits underneath.
His brow crinkles. “What the hell? How many of these are you wearing?”
I lift a shoulder, let it drop. “Five pairs. Give or take.”
“Shit,” he breathes, respect blazing in his eyes. “I’m screwed.”
“Yes,” I say. “You absolutely are.”
Instead of giving my foot back, he circles my ankle with his fingers. “I should’ve known you’d play dirty.”
My breathing gathers speed. “Itoldyou I was putting on socks. I just didn’t say how many. And you didn’t ask.”
His smile spreads like a slow pour of honey. “You minx.”
For half a heartbeat, I stumble over the fact that Michael used to call me that. But a moment later, the thought loses form.
The man sitting across from me is nothing like my husband. Maybe he used to be, back when they were young and hadn’t broken each other yet, but now...
