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I unlock the front door and bring her inside, then let her down, my hands on her waist again. That blouse she’s wearing does nothing to hide her curves or how good her body feels.
“There. I’ve carried you over the threshold, wife.”
“I think we’re about to have our first fight as a fake married couple.”
“First?”
“Fucking fiftieth, whatever,” she says. “You can’t manhandle me like that and make me do whatyouthink is right.”
“I can if you’re not thinking sensibly.”
I walk over to the fridge and grab two Cokes. I try to hand Marci one, but she folds her arms.
I sigh and leave a can on the rustic dark wood coffee table.
“I can’t uphold my part of the deal under these circumstances. Face it, Angel, you need me and I need you, so let’s cut the shit.”
“I need you like I need to have explosive diarrhea!”
“That’s so fucking hot.” I tip my can toward her and wink. “You know what to say to get me going.”
Marci’s gaze darts through my cottage, past the living room with its flatscreen TV and plush recliner, and comes to rest on the entrance to my bedroom door. The king-sized bed, with its white sheets, looks particularly inviting.
“How many beds do you have?” she asks.
“One. Same as you.”
“And you expect me to, what, sleep on that?”
She points at my recliner.
“Excuse me, lady, but that is a fucking state-of-the-art recliner.” I walk over to it, sit down, and pop my legs up, taking a leisurely sip of my drink. “This puppy cost me a thousand dollars.”
“You spent a thousand dollars on a chair?”
“You should see my toilet,” I say.
“You’re insane!” She throws up her hands.
“You’ll sleep in the bed. I’ll sleep on the masterpiece. Got it?”
But Marci’s eyes flash with a challenge. She got it. She just doesn’t like it.
Seventeen
MARCI
“I am not goingto sleep in your bed.”
I don’t care if Taylor is speaking sense. I’m in my stubborn era, and I’m not going to do what he wants me to, especially not when it scares the crap out of me. That kiss shook me to the core today, and it wasfake.
What would the real thing be like? I hate the confused feelings and the way he smiles at me from where he’s reclining, so I walk over and bring my foot down on the base of the chair, popping him upright.
“I’m talking to you,” I say. “You’re going to take me home.”
“Then the deal’s off.”
“You can’t blackmail me into staying here with you.”
