“You have a new card. Use it to pay for those expenses.”
“What is the limit?” I ask.
“I doubt you’ll reach it,” he states.
“I could try,” I taunt him.
He laughs, a deep, rich sound that goes right through me making me shiver. “You already tried and let me tell you, you didn’t scratch the bottom of the limit. I just hope you bought plenty of fuck me shoes and lingerie.”
My cheeks heat up at the mention of the two items I like the most. And the desire for him increases which pisses me off so I snap. “What happened the last time I was here won’t happen again. Ever.”
He grins, maraching toward me, grabbing my hand. His thumb glides over the inside of my wrist. His touch is so gentle, the shell around my heart softness as electrical tingles travel through my body. I shiver and suck in a breath. In a matter of seconds, he pulls me against his hard chest.
“Welcome home,” he whispers. His familiar scent—cedarwood and citrus—fills up the small space between us.
His penetrating gaze captures mine, and I can’t remember why I should be taking a step backward. All I know is that I yearn for his mouth, and my wish comes true as his lips lock on mine.
Henry’s arms wrap around my body, gently with such tenderness that I close my eyes and melt as I kiss him back. He threads his hands into my loose hair. The desire to have him increases. I’m now desperate, and I need more. So I kiss him harder until I remember that this can’t happen again.
I fight against my body and my heart, stopping the most delicious kiss I’ve experienced since…since the last time he kissed me.
I push him away. “No. We can’t do this again. I need you to promise me that what happened on Saturday… We can’t go down this path again. You should know better than that.”
“You are right. Next time I’ll make sure there aren’t any cameras around us. I apologize for my careless behavior, but I assure you no one saw us.”
“I meant the touching and the kissing.” My voice comes out as a shriek instead of a warning. All I want is to go back into those strong arms and just let myself feel because damn if I didn’t miss this asshole. We’ve never been far from each other for so long, but that doesn’t mean that I should take his shit or let him kiss me senseless.
“Our relationship is purely professional, and I detest you too much to…to—”
“Let me fuck you?” he asks amused.
“We’ll keep our relationship strictly professional,” I demand.
He nods. “I’d lie if I say that I wasn’t anticipating this reaction. You’re going to make me work for it, and it’s understandable after my behavior.”
“What are you talking about?”
He walks toward the coffee table where his laptop is, shuts it, and grins. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. I won’t try to kiss you again because as I said before, I won’t force you to accept me. But the next time you’ll be begging me for it.”
“Keep waiting,” I say as he walks out of the house.
He turns around and says, “It won’t take long. You missed me just as much as I did you. By the way, we’re having dinner at your parents’.”
I stare at him, shocked.
Sophia
After a delayed reaction, I march outside the house to confront him. Those damn kisses shut my brain down. I should’ve said more. He is crazy if he thinks I’m going to fall into this game, but I spot my friends walking toward me. Leyla is carrying Arden, Mills’ son, in her arms.
“So-so,” Arden says when he sees me and extends his arms toward me.
“Hey, handsome,” I greet him, giving him a big hug. “Were you visiting the chickens?”
He nods and rests his head on my shoulder.
“He’s tired,” Leyla announces. “We’ve been chasing chickens, feeding the animals, and walking around town. Not in that order.”
“Where is Mills?”
“Working at The Lodge,” Blaire informs me.
“Let’s go inside,” Leyla suggests. “This little one needs a snack and a long nap.”
She takes him away from me and marches toward the house.
“Welcome home!” Blaire hugs me. “I shouldn’t be happy, but… I mean you get a house, and we can spend time there without these men who drive me crazy.”
“This isn’t home to me,” I complain.
“At least for the next year or so,” she reminds me. “It’s not ideal, but look at the bright side. We’re together, and you won’t be missing anything. Now, you’re part of this crazy show.”
“I had a plan, and he destroyed it,” I say sadly, but I’m not sure if it’s because once again he’s setting me back in my career, or because I wish I was in his arms.
God, the way he just kissed me. I won’t be begging for more, but…what if I trick him into giving me one last kiss?
Instead of entering the house, we sit on the porch swing. It’s nice enough outside, and I can’t speak freely in front of Arden.
“You’re not working today, doc?”
“I took the afternoon off,” she says. “I want to make sure you are okay. This can’t be easy for you.”
“Five new executive positions are still open, and I can’t take any of them,” I complain. “What do I need to do to show him that I’m capable of a lot more?”
“You do a lot more, Soph, and I think he knows it,” she assures me. “If you’re unhappy, you should just quit. You are like family to us. We will help you.”
“Do you know I can’t work in hospitality for five years after I quit?”
She stares at me. “Is that even legal?”
“Yeah, a non-compete clause is pretty standard when you handle sensitive information like I do.”
“Well, then get started on that factory. With the experience from that place you can then get a job in something else.”
“That’s what I’ve been planning on doing. I already registered for some culinary classes down in Portland. Dad might teach me a trick or two, too.”
“Why would you need that?”
“So we can create new ice cream flavors, truffles, and other treats. I figure that I need to train my palate and learn about desserts before we start experimenting.”
Blaire was going to help me with that but with her pregnancy, she can’t tolerate many sugary treats which is ironic because she loves her sweets and usually eats dessert before dinner.
“You can pay people to do that for you or wait until the baby is born,” she suggests.
“That’s a long time from now, and what if you never recover your sweet tooth?” I ask and she growls in despair. “Listen, Mom always says that if you want something done right, you need to know how it’s done in the first place.”
“I guess it makes sense,” she answers unconvinced.
“She’s a wise woman.”
“What did she use to do before the stroke?”
“She owned a Mercado,” I answer.
She’s the first friend who I’ve told about Mom in…well, years. I stopped telling people about my situation around grad school. Everyone looked at me with pity. Blaire is different though. She’s a survivor so she takes this just as a conversation. Not gossip, or another sad story that she can claim as hers by saying, ‘Well, I have a friend whose mom…’”