Page 64 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Her expression falls. “You realize how possessive that sounds, right?”
But it’s as if I want her to take this seriously and I fear that she won’t unless pressed.
“You realize that you made a commitment to me and these rings will be worn.”
“Oh my God, Hudson, it’s not—” She blows out a frustrated breath. “You know what? You’re right, I made a commitment to you, therefore I will honor said commitment. Thank you for the reminder.” She gathers her food, and without another look back, she storms out.
And for some reason, that doesn’t settle well with me because I can see something brewing behind those eyes. Something brewing that I know will come back to bite me in the ass. The only question is, when exactly is that going to happen?
I place the key to my car on the side table next to the garage stairs, and that’s when I smell something.
Something…cooking.
Sloane left early from work today, claiming she needed to run some errands and because she seemed to be testy after she left at lunch, I thought that maybe it would be good to let her get some air and time away from me.
I had no clue what kind of errands she had to run, but I didn’t care. I enjoyed the reprieve from her. Instead of constantly peeking out my office window to catch a look at her, I was able to get some work done. Answered a ton of emails, went over a few spreadsheets, and even looked over some résumés that Jude sent my way for another construction manager that the Canes approved of as well.
And now that I’m home, I’m reminded of exactly why I was able to get all of that work done.
I turn the corner into the kitchen, where I see two pots on the stove, flames beneath them, a chopped salad on the counter, and what seems to be garlic bread ready to be put in the oven.
Confused, I glance around the room, and when I don’t see anyone, I start to worry that Sloane might have begun cooking but got distracted and pulled away. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Sloane?”
“Is that my sugar dumpling?” a voice calls out from the pantry. And then all of a sudden, her head pops out and a large smile spreads across her face. “Daddy’s home!”
Daddy?
Uh…no.
She steps out of the pantry wearing a frilly white-and-pink apron…and a pair of heels. That’s it, nothing else.
I can feel all the blood drain from my body and pool in one certain area as she walks toward me, her tits barely contained by the top of the apron,copious amounts of side boob peeking out. Her hair is down, curled, and she’s wearing bright red lipstick as she walks up to me and places her hand on my chest.
Instinctively, my hand falls to her hip, where I feel the waistband of her thong.
Her hands grip my face, and she stands on her toes and lightly presses a kiss to my nose.
The fucking nose.
When she releases me, she says, “I’m so glad you’re home. Dinner is almost ready.”
Then she turns away from me and goes to the oven, where she turns off the burners and lifts the lids off the pots.
My eyes travel up and down her body, taking in her sexy curves, the thickness of her thighs, her perfectly round ass. Her tits spilling out of the apron. Christ…
I clear my throat and attempt to take my eyes off her, but I can’t. Not when she’s…hell, not when she’s dressed like that. It’s every kitchen fantasy come true, and she knows it, because she’s strutting around, bending over, showing off her ass.
“Sloane,” I say, my voice coming out rough.
“Yes, darling?” she asks as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“My wifely duties of course,” she says as she moves around the counter, coming right up to me. She pats me on the chest and says, “That’s what you want, right? A wife?”
Yup, I knew something was brewing when she left my office earlier. It was clear as day—I just didn’t know she was going to go this far.
