Page 98 of If I Didn’t Have You

I hummed in acknowledgment as I drizzled spaghetti sauce onto my plate, then grabbed a piece of Italian sausage. “I can’t wait to see how it all turns out, and I know the kitchen will look fabulous when it’s done.”

Ben nodded as everyone else tried and failed to get comfortable around us.

“And the writing? How’s that going?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m much of a writer, but I’m enjoying figuring it all out.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” Ben grinned. “Anything…interesting…you’re writing about?”

“Alright!” Jeff yelled, slamming his fork down. “Are we really going to sit at this table and pretend that this isn’t foreplay for later tonight?”

I picked up my wine glass and shot him an innocent look. “Why, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do!” he snapped. “You both do, and you’re toying with us, trying to make us think that this…this attempt at pleasant conversation is anything other than what we all know is really going on here! And I, for one, will not sit by and listen to this disgusting play-by-play of what’s going to happen later tonight!”

He threw down his napkin and stormed out of the house.

“Would anyone else like to leave before the conversation gets too dirty?”

Chairs were shoved back, and the house was cleared out in less than thirty seconds. Then, it was just Ben and me at the table, and not a single person in sight to stop us from having a little fun.

I ran my tongue along the brim of the wine glass, eyeing my husband in a way I’d never dared. “So, did you want to finish dinner or did you have something else in mind?”

I found myself falling into a routine of waking up early with my husband between my thighs, then showering and heading into town for my early morning workout. After which, I came home and showered again.

The rest of my day was spent doing things for me, whether that was going on a walk, working on my horrendous version of a murder mystery, or trying to perfect what could only be a floating cat in a tornado on my latest painting.

I really was a terrible artist, but I truly enjoyed having the opportunity to sit next to the large window and try my hand at it. I would never sell a single landscape, but painting freed my mind in a way I never realized it could.

I even found I had no problem making dinner once again for my husband. On occasion, I even went out of my way to find new recipes that he might enjoy.

All in all, things were looking up. But I couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in my gut that we’d only put a patch on our problems and hadn’t actually fixed anything. The sex was great, and had brought us closer than ever, but that wouldn’t solve our problems.

“Put that down,” Ben rumbled, stepping up behind me and caging me against the stove.

“If I put this down, I’ll burn your dinner.”

My eyes slid closed as warm lips slid over my neck, enticing me away from the food I was preparing. It was so easy to tell him yes when he was like this.

“Ben…”

Reaching around me, he turned the stove off and shoved the pot to the back burner, then spun me around and tugged me against him, kissing me hard. Gasping, I threaded my fingers through his hair and got lost in his touch. But all too soon, he stepped back and snatched my hand, pulling me out of the house.

“Where are we going?” I laughed as he started jogging toward the barn.

Thankfully, those workouts made it easier to run. There was a time when just jogging down the steps would have done me in.

“Ben! Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“For a ride,” he called over his shoulder.

Nox was already saddled when we reached the barn, but as I looked around for a second horse, I realized his intentions.

“Isn’t Nox a little…wild for two riders?”

“Not with me at the reins,” he grinned, tugging me into his arms. “I’ll keep you safe.”

When his lips met mine, I melted into his touch, forgetting all about my worries. I could have stood there with him all day, making out like we were back in high school. But all too soon, he stepped back, thankfully, looking just as shaken as I was by the loss of contact.