Page 30 of The Bad Husband

His eyes move like melted butter over my body in a brief assessment.

I wonder if my dress is what he had in mind when he pitched me his idea of me working for him.

He signals me to get in before noticing the small package on the step I used to harass his fence.

“What’s that?”

I look at him, smiling.

“That would be my spare burger,” I say, utterly amused.

“Your spare burger? There’s food in the house, you know.”

“I do. I just like my burgers in a certain way.”

“Uh-huh. And where exactly did you get it?”

“I went out with my friend,” I say, slowly heading to the fence to pick up my midnight snack.

“Never mind. Wait here. I’ll get it,” he says with a flash of impatience in his voice. “And go on,” he adds, turning his back to me and walking toward the fence.

He picks it up and returns.

“I’m listening,” he says, gesturing at his car again.

I get in and slide into the passenger’s seat.

He drops the box in the back and claims the driver’s seat.

The car glides away smoothly as I stay silent, distracted by his ride, the view of the estate, and, more importantly, his presence and the spicy smell of his cologne.

“What are you wearing?” I ask, ignoring his request.

“You mean clothes?”

“I mean this.”

Without the slightest hesitation in my body, still emboldened by the alcohol in my blood, I shift in my seat and lean toward him.

Cheekily, I press my nose on the side of his neck and then tilt my chin a little and run my lips along his jawline.

“This. What is this?” I murmur.

“You like it?”

He turns his eyes to me, and only now do I realize what I’m doing, how close I am to him, and how dangerous this is.

Sobering up can’t come fast enough.

I jerk back at once, quivering inside.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. How rude of me,” I say.

Grappling with embarrassment, I make myself small in my seat.

“It just smells nice. It doesn’t matter,” I say in a completely different voice.

Blank, void of emotions.