Page 63 of The Wrong Husband

“But then I met you… And something shifted. Like I’ve uncorked some part of myself I didn’t even know existed. This deep, aching hunger. For sensation. For danger. For things I’ve never let myself want.”

She looks up at me, eyes dark and turbulent, brimming with something raw and uncertain.

“It makes me question if I ever really knew who I was… Or if I’ve just been living a version of myself built to win my mother’s approval.”

I lean in, my voice low. “That’s a hell of an insight. How does it feel, realizing that?”

Her gaze flickers away, the muscles in her jaw shifting as she thinks. “It makes me want to throw caution to the wind…and revel in the feelings you’ve helped uncork.”

The honesty in her voice is unguarded, almost fragile. She’s laying herself bare, and she’s choosing to do it with me.

Her trust humbles me. Her vulnerability arouses me. And the knowledge that I’m the one she’s opening up to? That’s a heady, dangerous thing. Warmth squeezes my chest. The need to take care of her overwhelms me.

I pick up a strawberry and hold it to her mouth. She bites around the plump fruit, the juice dripping down her chin.

Instantly, I lean in and lick it up.

When I sit back, she’s staring at me with wide eyes. "That’s what I mean." She chews and swallows slowly. "There’s an unabashed sensuality about you that blows my mind."

In response, I pick up a slice of cheese and trace her lips with it. Her pupils dilate. Holding my gaze, she obliges. I feed it to her, then spread some pâté on a cracker and coax her to eat it.

"Not the only thing I want to blow," I confess.

She stops chewing, coughs. I smirk, satisfied at her response, and hold her wineglass to her lips.

She takes a sip. "You didn’t come earlier," she points out.

"This wasn’t about me. This was about your pleasure. I wanted to help you relax. To help you clear your mind of stress and give you time off from daily life."

"Is that what the doctor ordered?" She tilts her head.

"That’s whatIordered," I agree.

"It’s not going to make me change my mind about marrying you," she warns again.

“We’ll see about that.” I kiss her, and she responds with such ardor, my skin begins to burn with renewed need.

She may not realize it, but her actions undermine her words. Not that I’m going to point that out to her. That would be thequickest way of shutting her down, and I don’t want that. I’m going to charm her into agreeing to my proposal. And once I make up my mind about something, I won’t stop until I've accomplished it.

Softening the kiss, I wind my arm about her shoulder and pull her close. We watch the ground come toward us as the balloonist brings us back to where we started.

I help her out, then lead her to my car.

“Thank you.” She turns to me as we pull away. “That was incredible.”

“You’re welcome.” All too soon, we pull up in front of her house. I turn off the ignition.

She wrings her fingers in her lap, look straight ahead. “I, uh, I would invite you home but?—”

I reach over and squeeze her hands. “I understand.”

“You do?” She looks at me strangely.

“You’re not ready to share that part of you with me, yet. But you will. Soon.”

She seems taken aback, then a wry look comes into her eyes. “Damn your confidence. It should piss me off but… Lucky for you, I find it a turn on.”

“Andyouturnmeon in ways which shake me to the core.”