Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“I’ll try harder.” I subtly turned into his touch, hoping he’d linger. I’d never tell him, but the last few nights had been utter torture for me, holding him, more turned on than I’d ever been and unable to do anything about it, excruciatingly aware of his every breath. My skin hummed for hours after leaving bed each morning. Every place where we’d touched was alive and buzzing with an energy I’d never felt before.
“You’re great at being stern with me. You need to do that more with your kids.” He gave me a fond smile. Zap. A vision flashed in front of me of us as co-parents, a flock of foster and adopted teens, this house teeming with noise and chaos. Worth laying down the law while I handed out cookies and praise.
I want that.
“We make a good team,” I said softly as he dropped his hand. If wanting was enough, I would have won Worth’s heart decades ago, but this adult longing was far more powerful than a crush. I no longer idolized Worth or saw some polished image of him. He was a man, a painfully human one, and I wanted him on levels my teen self never could have imagined. And unlike my obvious adoration back then, I had to mask my desires now. Worth didn’t need any additional pressure or guilt. Standing, I forced myself to adopt a cheerier tone. “Enough of the finances. Let’s find some dinner. And no, cookies don’t count.”
“See?” He smiled at me as he also stood. “You’re great at laying down the law for me. Just do more of that with your workers.” Crossing the room, he stopped in front of the fridge. “Huh. My stomach almost feels normal.”
“Good. How’s the rest of you? Headache?” I asked as Buttercup roused herself enough to follow us into the kitchen.
While the ulcer meds had started to help almost immediately, Worth had faced more of an adjustment period to the antidepressant medication, which wasn’t uncommon.
“I took a short nap. That helped. I’m still a little tired. But today, for the first time, I feel…productive? More me? Hard to explain.” Mouth twisting, he opened the fridge, studying the contents.
“More you is an excellent start.” I peered over his shoulder at the limited contents of the refrigerator before moving to the pantry cupboard. “Pasta? Probably not a tomato sauce, but how about cheese?”
“A cheese sauce sounds great. What melting cheeses do you have?”
“You’re rather optimistic.” I grabbed a bag of pre-shredded cheese from the fridge. “I have this highly sought-after store brand Italian blend. It promises to be great on pizza. It’ll do.”
“How about I make the sauce, and you handle the pasta?”
“Deal.” While he took Buttercup to the yard, I flipped on some music, a favorite upbeat playlist. When he returned, we worked in quiet harmony as my playlist continued. I hummed along with a particularly awesome song.
“Oh.” Worth took on a faraway expression as he precisely minced garlic. “My mom always had music playing while she cooked.”
“Should I turn it off?” After I set a pot of water on to boil, I studied him closely. I didn’t want to upset his good mood with unhappy thoughts. I’d been deliberately avoiding the topic of his family, figuring Worth would talk when he was ready, and he didn’t need me prodding or playing amateur therapist.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “She had better taste than whatever this bubblegum crap is.”
“A cappella is an art form.” I matched his light tone.
“So is finger painting.” He rolled his eyes at me as he added the garlic to a skillet where perfectly diced onion was already sizzling.
“So rude.” I turned the volume up slightly, making my point by dancing to the beat while I waited for the water to boil. Shaking my hips, I tapped a large wooden spoon against my thigh. Thump. Thump. I sang along with the chorus and kept my spoon-drumming going.
“Sam.” Worth made a pained noise that startled Buttercup from her resting spot near the nook.
“What?” Reaching for my phone, I flicked the volume back down. “Is the music that bad? Or my singing.”
“Not that. The spoon.” Sure enough, his gaze was locked on my hand. Experimentally, I tapped my thigh again, and he hissed out a breath. “It’s distracting.”
“I’ll rinse it before I use it to stir.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Color rose up Worth’s neck, from the collar of the T-shirt he’d borrowed to up over his Adam’s apple, streaking across his defined cheekbones and fair skin. Blushing. I’d made Worth Stapleton blush.
“Was I turning you on?” The question escaped before I could think better of it.
“Sam.” This time he said my name more like a curse. “Don’t ask me that. We can’t have this conversation. You don’t even know what you’re doing.”
“You make me sound like a kid.” I waved the spoon at him.