Page 31 of Wish I Might
“But there’s a lot of room between aggressive moves and dead fish.”
She huffed out a breath.“I know that, Nash.”
“And though you say you want someone—me—to take control,” he continued, unfazed, “I’m not sure you’ve thought through exactly what that means.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t think you can do it,” he said bluntly.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think you can let someone else take control,” he said.“Call the shots, take the reins, be in charge.Make the moves.We were together a long time, Bailey, and I know you.”
Defiance shone in her eyes, in the stubborn line of her mouth, the angle of her chin.“We haven’t been together for eight years, Nash, and you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
He leaned forward, brought his mouth within a hair’s breadth of hers, and whispered, “Prove it.”
For a moment, she just stared at him.He kept his gaze on hers, watching the emotions run across her eyes.Insult, irritation, that bright light of challenge.A hint of humor, because she knew he was fucking with her, at least a little.And with all of that, there was heat.
So much heat—her eyes all but glowed with it, the pink on her cheeks had deepened with it.Her breathing had quickened, and her breasts brushed against his chest as they rose with each inhale, fell with each exhale.
He waited, heart hammering, fingers metaphorically crossed, for her to either tell him yes or go to hell.
“You’re such a dick,” she finally said, and he figured it said something about him that the snipe in her tone made his dick hard.
Well.Harder.
“Is that a yes or a no?”he asked.
“You think I can’t give you control?”she challenged, stepping forward.The hem of her dress fluttered against his knees, her breasts pressed firmly into his chest, and her belly bumped, oh, so softly, into the hard ridge of his dick.“Well, I think you can’t take it.”
“No?”he managed while his head spun in a slow, dizzying circle.
“Nope.”The smirk he loved so much had twisted her full mouth, the battle light brightened her eyes.“So how aboutyouprove it?”
He paused a moment to send his heartfelt thanks into the universe, chirped out a cheerful, “Okay,” and grabbed her ponytail.
She squealed, lurching in his grip.“Nash!”
“Shut up,” he said, steering her toward the front door.“I’m in charge.”
She was making a choking noise that he recognized as laughter, but he ignored it, reached past her to shove open the door, and pushed her inside.
She stumbled over the threshold, let out a squeak when he jerked her upright by the hair, and gasped, “Chicken.”
“The hell I am,” he countered and, resisting the urge to ask her if she was okay—she was still laughing, so he figured it was safe to assume she was—nudged her toward his bedroom.
“No, I meant the bucket,” she managed between giggles.“It’s still on the front porch.”
Shit.Frowning, he stopped short just outside his bedroom.“What happens if we leave it out there?”
“Racoons,” she said succinctly.“And also cats.”
Fuck.Scowling, he dragged her head back to peer into her face.“Stay here.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.You don’t move from this spot.If you do, I’ll…”
