Six Hot Single Dads. Lynne Marshall
be lucky enough to get a job that pays me more money than is probably reasonable.”
He was glad he wasn’t keeping track of the many ways in which he’d misjudged Ashley. He’d be losing, big time. “You’re an industry, Ashley George. I’ve witnessed it. Don’t diminish the appeal of you.” All he could think about was how great her appeal was to him. He wanted to kiss her so badly it was as if the devil was on his shoulder berating him to just do it.
Warmth colored her cheeks in a breathtaking rush of peach. “It’s very sweet of you to say that. I don’t understand the idea of me as an industry or appealing, but I’ll take it.”
“The thing that amazes me is how you manage to do everything you do. How do you fit it all into one day? You spend an awful lot of time taking care of everyone else.” A lump caught in his throat, one he found hard to get past. “I have to wonder who takes care of you.”
“I could ask you the very same thing.”
“I suppose you could.”
She took another sip of wine. “Now that I told you my whole life story, I feel like you have to tell me a little more about yours. Let me guess. You grew up in a castle.”
He laughed quietly. “Talk about watching too many movies. It was more of a Victorian townhouse in London. But it was a comfortable upbringing. I can’t think of a major trial in my life until, well, you know. Lila’s mother leaving us.” To his surprise, uttering the words didn’t bring the normal stabbing sensation in his chest. It was liberating to say it out loud and not feel crippled by it.
“No wonder it hit you so hard. The first time you encounter a big trauma in your life and it ends up being a doozy.”
He couldn’t help but notice how healing it felt to talk to Ashley, to have someone who knew his sad story really listen to him. She didn’t have an agenda outside trying to understand him better. “Indeed it did.”
She gathered her napkin in her hand and placed it next to her plate. “I should probably get to the dishes or it’ll be an hour until we can have cake.”
He got up from the table and took her dish. “I’ll help. We do not want to delay the arrival of cake.”
Ashley began collecting pots and pans while he loaded plates and cutlery into the dishwasher. He hadn’t done dishes in quite a long time, but he would’ve dug a ditch if it meant the chance to watch Ashley bend over and put a pot back into the cabinet. Eventually he ended up with his hands in hot, soapy water, scrubbing the cooking vessel for the grits while Ashley ran to the bathroom. He couldn’t stop thinking about the moment when he’d taken her hand at the table and she hadn’t flinched at all. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ways in which he’d read her wrong. He definitely couldn’t stop thinking about the urge to kiss her.
“Almost done?” Ashley asked, returning to the kitchen.
He pulled the drain plug from the sink and rinsed that final pot, leaving it to air-dry. “Last one. And it’s a good thing. I was beginning to prune.”
“Let me see,” she said with a comedic air of concern. She took his hand and turned it over in hers. “Oh, you don’t look too bad to me. I think you’ll live.” She peered down at his hand, not letting go. She dragged her finger along the head line. “Is this the heart line?
He smiled, especially when she stepped closer and he could inhale that beguiling summer rain scent of hers. “That’s actually the head line. Mine says that I’m a quick thinker. It also means I draw conclusions quickly. It’s not a good thing.”
“Hmm. I think I’m familiar with that aspect of your personality.” She inched her finger across his palm. “What about this one?”
“Life. Mine says that I need to learn to relax.”
“Either you’re making it up, or this is ridiculously accurate.” She moved her finger to the final line to be read.
“That one’s the heart line.” He leaned back against the kitchen counter, not about to relinquish his hand, unsubtly pulling her closer. Her touch was driving him crazy in the best possible way, bringing every inch of him alive.
“And what does your heart line say?” she asked.
He didn’t want to tell her the truth about his heart line. It said he’d experienced a deep, personal betrayal. It wasn’t that he was over it—he didn’t want to dwell on it with Ashley anymore. They both had their scars. “Why don’t you tell me what you think it says?”
She looked up at him and bit her lower lip, leaving his poor heart to jackhammer in his chest. Her impossibly warm and welcoming eyes scanned his face, back and forth, taking in everything. “I’d guess that it says you have a big heart. A generous one.”
He placed his other hand on her waist, tugging her closer, stepping to the edge of a precipice he’d visited many times. He couldn’t walk away from her if he started something. It wouldn’t just hurt her. It would mark him for life. “It actually says that I’m a bloody idiot if I don’t kiss the incredible woman standing in my kitchen.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes. “That’s the oldest trick in the book, Chambers.”
He threaded his hand into her hair, anticipating the kiss he was about to plant on her sweet, pink lips. “It’s not a bad one, either.”
Marcus’s kiss was an arrow straight to the heart. Dinner was apparently the best idea ever, judging by the way he was kissing her. She tilted her head to the opposite side, taking another approach. She pressed into him so hard, his head thunked against the upper kitchen cabinet.
“Oh my God, Marcus. Are you okay?”
His eyelids were heavy and sexy as if he’d just woken up. He whipped her around, pushing her butt up against the kitchen island. “Yes. I’m sure I had that coming at some point in our friendship.” His lips were on hers again, his tongue toying with hers while one hand went up the back of her top, unhooking her bra. His other hand was flattened against her back, pressing her into him, erasing any space between them.
She was exploring the landscape of his back beneath his impossibly soft and worn T-shirt. Every muscle was so defined, so articulated, just begging to be read by her fingers. She couldn’t wait to do the same to the front of him.
She leaned back and tugged his T-shirt up and away. “You’re so damn sexy in a pair of jeans. I’m struggling to comprehend it.”
“Remind me to wear them more often.”
She unhooked his button, needing him out of these clothes. Part of her was so eager finally to have him. The rest of her was just hoping to hell that he wasn’t going to make her stop. There’d be no coming back from that. She lowered his zipper.
“Or not,” he said, swallowing hard. “I don’t have to wear the jeans if you don’t want me to.”
He pulled off her top, adding it to the pile of clothes on the kitchen floor. Next went her bra. “Please tell me you have a condom readily available this time,” she said.
“Or what?”
“Or I might have to withhold cake. And I’m definitely withholding sex.”
He took her hand and pulled her down the hall. “Good thing I have a whole box. I’m hoping I get to have both cake and sex.”
She giggled as they walked into his bedroom. It was so different this time, knowing she was an invited guest—she wasn’t sneaking around. He wanted her there. He wanted her, period. She could see it in his eyes.
He gripped her rib cage, caressing the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs, all while practically peering into her soul, peeling away every layer she covered herself in. Making her naked, making