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“Running up to my room,” she told him, already a little breathless. “Where are you?”
“At the studio. Locked in my office. Also alone, aside from your tart.”
She tripped on the top step.
“You okay? I heard a thump.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her big toe throbbing. “But are you sure you want to do this now?” She stopped for a breather at the kitchen counter. “We can wait until you’re home.”
“My office is soundproof. TheDo Not Disturbsign is up. Yeah, I want to do this now. Ineedto do this now.”
She gulped. “Okay, but I need a minute. Can you give me a minute?”
FaceTiming meant he’d see her. FaceTiming meant she’d need to change out of her flour-covered clothes and wash her flour-covered face. FaceTiming meant he’d see her room!
“Make that five minutes,” she said while her brain whirred through images of him alone in his office, his door locked, his lights dim, maybe already stroking himself through his jeans.
“Take as long as you need, Mira.”
Mm-hmm. Yep, those were the slow, lazy words of a man stroking his cock all right. It was on. This was happening. This was fucking happening!
“See you soon,” she said, ending the call before plowing through her bedroom door, her heart beating so fast she felt, heard, and practically tasted it. After peeling off her shirt and jeans, she turned in a frantic circle, surveying the chaos of clothes and shoes littering her floor.
Scooping shirts and bras and boots into her arms, she hurled them into her closet, shoved them into any drawer they’d fit into. Her head spinning, a cardiovascular event looming, she closed her eyes.Calm down, Mira. Breathe. You are a fifty-year-old woman. You can do this. But you will not FaceTime him in your bra and underwear!
She could put on a dress or wear that low-cut blouse she’d bought at the mall in Missoula that made her tits look fantastic. But in all the selfies she’d sent him over the last two weeks, he seemed to like her best when she was comfortable, casual.
Shucking off her bra—deciding bras were for people who didn’t mess around over video chats in the middle of the day—she shoved it into a drawer she’d just stuffed full of random shit, then rooted around for her favorite black tank top. Opening the next drawer down, she found the pink shorts she never wore out, because while they were super cute, they were also super short. With trembling fingers and skyrocketing adrenaline, she slipped into the simple outfit she hoped like hell didn’t give off mom-about-to-do-braless-yoga vibes.
Brushing the flour off her face in the mirror, then hiking up her boobs, she crawled into her window, blew out an enormous breath, and pulled up his contact.
“There she is,” he said with a smile, leaning back in his chair, one hand curled behind his head.
“Hi.” She waved at him, actually waved.
“Damn, Mira,” he said, sitting up straighter, his eyes moving restlessly over her face.
“What?” She checked her tiny image in the corner of her screen for any flour smears she might have missed.
“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your eyes, your lips, your everything. Pictures don’t do you justice.”
Forcing her breathing to slow, her focus to sharpen, she traced the straight line of his nose, the angle of his chin, the strong column of his throat, and said, “I’ve missed your everything too.”
“You look amazing.” His gaze dipped to her throat, her chest. “That top.” His lower lip disappeared between his teeth.
While he took in her tank top, she took in his Cure shirt. “You wore that the first time we met.”
Tearing his gaze from hers, he glanced down, reading the words scrawled across his chest:Let’s Go To Bed.“You’re right.” His lips pulled into a smirk. “Ironic.”
Her mouth went bone dry. “How do we do this? What happens next?”
“I need to see you. More of you. All of you. Will you show me?”
“You want to…see me?”
“I thought I could be cool,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I thought I’d see you again, and I’d be able to act like a normal person. But there’s nothing normal about how badly I want you, how badly I’ve wanted you for weeks, how out of my mind I’ve been for you since I pulled your zipper down in that walk-in freezer. It doesn’t ease up. It doesn’t let me sleep. I want you, Mira. However I can have you. So yes, I want to see you. I want to see everything you’re willing to show me. Please.”
And after that, not a single molecule of air moved through her lungs. Not a single shred of concern remained about how she looked or if her shorts were too short. All that mattered was only how badly she wanted him too. “Cole.” It was all she could say, the only word she could manage.
