Catch - Deborah Bladon Page 0,61
want you on your knees this time.”
I ate her after we fucked.
She told me she didn’t think I could come again after the load I shot down her throat, but I’m always up for a challenge.
She laughs. “Don’t make me laugh, or I might hiccup.”
“I fucking love when you hiccup.”
Her hands drop to her hips. “You swore, Keats.”
“I’ll write a check for a hundred grand this month.” I scrub my hand over my chin. “That gives me room to curse a few more times.”
She starts toward me. “I can order some food.”
“Or I can cook for you,” I offer.
Her eyes narrow. “You cook?”
Tugging on the belt of the robe, I pull her toward me. “I’m an excellent cook.”
Her arms reach for my bare shoulders. Her eyes travel down my body, stopping at the waistband of my boxers. “What we did was incredible. I loved all of it.”
I love all of you.
Fear stalls those words inside of me.
“I did too,” I offer with a kiss on her lips. “You’re amazing, Maren.”
Her eyes search mine for something, but I can tell by the expression on her face that she doesn’t find what she’s looking for.
“What will you cook?” she questions with a purse of her lips.
“Hot dog pizza?”
She scrunches her nose. “What’s the second choice?”
I huff out a laugh. “Who said there was a second choice?”
Her pointer finger lands in the middle of her freckled chest. “Me.”
I stare at the sliver of skin exposed by the opening of the robe. I want to count those freckles and catalog them in my mind for eternity.
“Your second choice is leftovers.”
She inches up on her heels to press a kiss to my jaw. “I love leftovers.”
I grab hold of her chin to keep her in place. I stare into her eyes. “You like this, all wet and wild, makes me wonder how anything this beautiful can exist.”
Her lips press together. “Wow.”
“Wow, is right.” I brush my lips over hers for a soft kiss. “You’re the definition of wow.”
I hold her there until she starts to pull away. “I should get dressed.”
“No.” I reach down to tighten the belt around her waist. “Wear my robe to dinner, and don’t mess with your hair. I want you just like this when we eat.”
“I won’t change a thing,” she reassures me. “I’ll stay like this for as long as you want.”
Forever.
I want her just like this forever.
Chapter 48
Maren
Why do moments this perfect have to be punctuated by bullshit?
That’s a real question.
Whenever I feel my life is sailing along toward bliss, a hurricane creeps up and wipes out my happiness.
I stare down at the screen of my phone while Keats heats up pasta he ordered in for his brother and Stevie last night.
He said it’s baked ravioli from Calvetti’s.
It smells incredible.
The lump in my gut isn’t from hunger. It’s from the message that just popped up on my screen.
I reread it.
Hey. I’m following up on Dudley. Were you able to reconnect him with Keats?
I tap my finger over the screen of my phone.
“Maren?” Keats calls my name from where he’s standing next to the microwave. “You look pissed. What’s wrong?”
Was it that noticeable in my expression?
I drop my gaze back to my phone to reread the first message this woman sent to me weeks ago when I found Dudley.
I met that dog when I stayed at his owner’s place. Keats Morgan is the man you’re looking for. He’s a fun trip. Enjoy the ride!
“It’s nothing,” I say.
Keats wipes his hands on a towel near the sink. “Tell me, Maren.”
I don’t want to ruin this perfect evening by bringing up one of his ex-lovers. “I said it’s nothing, Keats.”
He stalks toward me.
Even with a bare chest and boxers on, he’s commanding. I can tell that he’s not going to drop this, and I won’t lie to him.
“Is your roommate all right?”
“It’s nothing like that.” I shake my head.
“What’s it like?” he asks, ignoring the ring of the microwave signaling the food is warmed.
I struggle with how to tell him or whether I should. I could delete all of the messages and forget this ever happened.
But I don’t.
“I got a message,” I admit. “It was from one of the women who reached out to me after I found Dudley.”
He leans his forearms on the island. “One of the women?”
The question is waiting to be answered, so I do it. “One of twenty-three women.”
His gaze drops to the granite countertop. “Shit.”
I look past his shoulder to the microwave. “Let’s eat dinner.”
His head