Page 67 of Big D!ck Energy

Now, maybe, I can share a bed with her without making a complete ass of myself.

I almost believed it.

This was supposed to be simple. A business arrangement. We'd both been drunk in Vegas, made a spectacular mistake, and now we were handling it. No feelings. No complications. Just six months of performance.

Except nothing about that kiss felt like a performance.

I shut off the water and grabbed a towel from the warming rack, catching my reflection again. Water dripped down my chest.

“You're in trouble,” I muttered.

Because the truth was, I'd wanted to kiss her long before tonight.

A crash from the living room shattered my spiral, followed by Ricky's frantic barking and what sounded like Davina inventing new profanity.

“Everything okay?” I called out.

“Your house is trying to murder me! Who puts a freaking coffee table in the middle of a walkway?”

“People who can see in the dark?”

“I hate you.”

I grinned.

Wrapping the towel around my hips, I opened the door to find her in the hallway, balanced on one foot like an angry flamingo. I pressed my lips into a tight line, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“Don't,” she warned, pointing at me. “Don't you dare say a word.”

I held up both hands. “Wouldn't dream of it, wife.”

Her eyes dropped to the water still sliding down my chest, over my stomach, disappearing into the towel slung low on my hips.

Her throat moved as she swallowed.

The flush started at her collarbones and climbed up her throat. I watched it spread with way too much satisfaction.

So much for the shower fixing anything. My body was already stirring again, responding to her gaze like a flower turning toward the sun.

“You're staring,” I observed.

“I'm glaring.”

I stepped closer. The hallway wasn't wide. Another step and we'd be sharing air. “It looks a lot like…”

“Like I'm plotting where to hide your body.” But her voice had gone breathy, and she hadn't moved back. “Put some clothes on, Dodger.”

“This is my house.”

“Our house.” She jabbed a finger at my chest, making contact, then yanking her hand back like I'd burned her. “For six months. Which means you can't just... wander around... like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know what.”

I leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, letting the movement shift the towel. Her gaze flicked down again, then snapped back to my face. I probably shouldn't have enjoyed that as much as I did.

“We should figure out sleeping arrangements,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral despite the renewed tension building inside me. “Since the new bed doesn't arrive until Thursday.”