“Really good.”
“Every last item of furniture has been delivered save for those two broken barstools. Both kitchens passed inspection today. The exterior was painted. So many things. I feel like it’s so close.”
“It is, but we still need a name so we can get the signage ordered.”
“I know. I know.”
Yes, each day brings us closer to the grand opening, but it’s also bittersweet too. Every item checked off our punch list, every trade finishing and clocking out for the last time, every walk-through of the inn in complete awe at the transformation is more than bittersweet.
It’s a reminder that this is ending.
It means . . . who knows what it means for Ford and me? We’ve yet to even broach the subject.
“I’ve been thinking,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed, his arm stretched out so his hand is on my calf. His wet hair is leaving dark marks on the comforter beneath his head.
“About?”
“What if we partnered up again?” he asks as my heart leaps in my chest. “I mean, I’m more than certain your stepdad would jump at the chance for a long-standing contract with S.I.N. Who wouldn’t?” His arrogance knows no bounds, but he is right.
Isn’t that what I had leveraged to get the okay to come here in the first place?
“I know the financial burden of something like this could be overwhelming. S.I.N. could buy the properties and take on the fiscal responsibilities, and Haywood Redesigns could do the improvements with the caveat that I’ll work with you and no one else. Garland would be handcuffed, and you’d continue to get to do what you love and are incredible at. I mean, that is if you’re interested in working with me, Celery Ellery?”
I stare at him and his closed eyes, my mouth agape. How can he just say something like that so casually and not freaking look at me?
“Hear me out,” he says, mistaking my shocked silence for hesitation. “I’m not saying S.I.N. would take you out of that picture. You’d get a percentage of ownership in each property. I get that you think it’ll come off like you slept your way into the position, or that I’m only asking you because I feel obligated to or out of plain pity to stick it to your brothers, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re talented and crazy good at what you do. Besides, you’ve spoiled me. I don’t think I could do this with anyone else. So that’s why I’m asking you.”
Excitement at the thought of getting to do this again bubbles up. Of doing it with him, even more so. The “yes” I want to shout from the rooftops is sitting on my tongue. I wish I could say it, but don’t we need to address the white elephant in the room? Or rather, the fact that we’re on the same bed, his hand on my leg, and basically living together?
I mean, I was going to marry and live with Chandler with a whole lot less than there is between Ford and me . . . so why am I hesitating?
Or rather, why are we not addressing it?
Do I really want to know? Do I really want to be told that in two weeks this “fling” or whatever it is will be over? Or is it better to just stick my head in the sand?
I pick up my Kindle and flip to where I was at.
Just call me Ostrich.
“You’re not responding.” Ford tilts his head back so he can look at me. “Wait a minute. I ask you to partner up with me, and you opt to read your book instead of responding?” he teases as he sits up. “I’m thinking I should take that as an insult.” And before I can react, he twists around and plucks the Kindle from my hand.
“No,” I yelp, eyes wide as he taps the screen and words come to life.
And my freak-out is for more than a few reasons.
One, oh my God. He’s going to know what I’ve been secretly reading most nights while he taps away on his laptop. And it’s not that I’m ashamed, but . . . now he’s going to know.
And two, Maxton’s biography is on there. In my library. And at this point I’m more than grateful that I had the forethought to open and close several of my other books so that the memoir is buried farther down the library on the off chance that he might see my screen. But still, it’s on there.
“You’re ignoring me for . . . Oh. Wow.” He sits up straighter as his eyes widen. His eyes flash to mine, a ghost of a smile painting his lips before he looks back at the tablet.
I gulp, and my cheeks turn what feel like ten shades of red.
The scene I was reading was damn good. Descriptive and dirty and thigh-clenchingly sexy.
He clears his throat. “This is really interesting stuff, Ellery. Even more fascinating is that you bookmarked the page.” He meets my eyes before reading out loud. “‘Her cry fills the small space as I slide my tongue up her slit then back down before burying it inside of her. Before owning every inch of her. Before licking her and pleasuring her with my fingers until her legs buckle, and my name falls from her lips over and over as I bring her to the brink.’ Whew.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Should I see if you’ve bookmarked any of the other sex scenes?”
“No.” I swipe at his hand, but he yanks the Kindle away. All I can do is laugh.
“Don’t be embarrassed. Sex. Wanting sex. Wanting sex with me . . . it’s completely natural. Completely logical. And this? This is . . .” He grins at me. “Incredible.”
He says that as if sex with him isn’t of the same caliber.
Because it is.
It definitely is.
I yelp as he tugs on my leg with one hand and pulls me flat, climbing over my hips to straddle me.
“Let’s see,” he says as he touches the screen. He sucks in a breath and groans. “This one is hot. ‘Ah, Lilly. This ass is perfection. I want it pink from your punishment. I want it violated by my fingers. I want it filled while I fuck you long and deep with my cock in that willing pussy of yours.’ Jesus.” He barks out a laugh that is strained. His eyes meet mine. One hand holds my Kindle, his other runs languorously up and down the midline of my chest. Under one breast, his thumb just skims my nipple, before moving on to the other one. His cock is thick, heavy, and hard where it presses against the seam of his shorts. “I definitely need to read this book. It’s . . . yeah.” He coughs out a laugh as his cheeks flush. I love that he’s slightly embarrassed by it.
It lessens the fact that I am.
Who am I kidding? It doesn’t.
“What else have we bookmarked in here? Should we look?” He grinds his hips over me and my body burns a little hotter. “Eeny. Meeny. Miney Mo. Oh. Damn. Here’s one.”
He leans forward and teases me with a kiss, but when I try to deepen it, he pulls back and simply tugs on my bottom lip.
He clears his throat.
“‘Hands on the wall.”
“Only if you fuck me,” she says in a broken voice.
“We’re getting there.” I laugh, but then groan as she jolts when I slide the head of my cock right into her opening.
Every part of me tenses. I try to fight the violent desperation to take her with abandon. To pound into her. To chase my own bloody pleasure now that I know she’s found hers.
My hips thrust ever so slightly into her. Her warm, wet heat grabs my cock inch by inch, until I bottom out and see stars.
Fuck.