Page 73 of Sterling Clay

The wooden spoon Clay was using clangs in the pan, and I glance up to him climbing up the bed and crawling over me, knocking me deeper into the pillows at my back.

“I like us, too.” He cups my cheek with one hand and kisses me, slowly, with purpose. As our mouths move together, Clay tugs me lower on the bed, shifting me beneath him. My arms wrap around him, and I’m ready for the make-out portion of our date, but the wine is simmering, and the food is spread out beside me.

I pull back and rub my nose against his. “Maybe we should lunch first.”

“Your nose is freezing.” He chuckles before placing a kiss on the tip. “So, yeah, lunch. You need that wine to warm you up a bit.”

Doesn’t he know I’m always warm around him? Hot for him? I lean up to press another quick kiss to his mouth before shoving him off me.

“Feed me, mister.”

“Your commands are my wish.”

I laugh as I roll to my side and perch on my elbow. “I don’t think that’s the saying.”

“Well, I like my version better. I like when you boss me around.”

“Boss you around?” I lower my head to my hand, propped up on my elbow, and watch him pour warm wine into two camp mugs.

“I told you before. I’m always making decisions. All day long. And it’s nice to be told what to do once in a while.” He brings a mug to me on the bed. “I like you being bold and bossy.”

I tip an eyebrow and hum, blowing on the steaming liquid in my mug. “And I like you sweet and sexy.”

“You think I’m sexy?”

I laugh hard and watch my wine ripple from the exertion. “You know you are, honey.”

Clay climbs up on the bed beside me. “What’s fucking sexy is you calling me honey.”

“What’s fucking sexy is how you act with Dutton.”

We stare at one another a long minute, each cupping the mugs in our hands, until Clay clears his throat. “We’re getting weird, aren’t we?”

Are we? I don’t care. How often does one get an endless stream of compliments?

I sip my wine without answering him, and we fall into a quiet conversation about things we’d like to do one day and dreams we had that haven’t happened yet. Clay is easy to talk to. He’s also a great listener, intent and asking questions, looking directly at me. He might learn more about me than anyone ever has.

I want that kind of attention every day, not just one afternoon, and Clay is the kind of man to follow through on that desire.

As we sip wine and munch through our meal, I do relax, finding the cabin cozy and warm, and the spiced wine heating my insides. I yawn.

“Am I boring you?” Clay chuckles, sitting up to clear off the bed.

“Absolutely not. I’m just . . . toasty.” I bend my knees and curl my toes, snuggling deeper into the pillows behind me. I’m not a napper, but I could easily take one here, and dream of never leaving this place.

The warmth. The company. Of course, I’d miss Dutton.

He’d been happy to see Violet when she arrived at Clay’s house, babysitting backpack over her shoulder, full of activities for the day. Clay told me she’d make a great teacher one day. Violet admits she doesn’t know yet what she wants to be.

Clay tops off each mug of wine and returns to the bed. After handing me my cup I take another sip, humming once more at the flavor and warmth.

“So, I did good?” He arches one brow, smiling at me with a knowing smirk.

“So far, so good,” I tease.

“What would make it better?”

I tap my lower lip. “Maybe . . . you naked?”