Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,11
lovers sharing a moment, and not virtual strangers.
“Um . . .” She bit her lip.
He cleared his throat, pushed down the desire. For God’s sake, he was an actor. He’d pretended his whole life. He pretended for a living. This—making light conversation with a beautiful woman—should be easy.
“That is, you have Rylie,” he said, thankfully pulling something semi-normal out of nowhere. “Your daughter is great.”
Shannon’s face softened. “She is.” A beat, lips curving. “Also, it should be noted that the person who’s made the biggest mess on this couch is me, drinking—or well, spilling, a glass of red wine”—she rolled her eyes at herself—“luckily for me, the covers come off, and everything is machine washable.”
“Smart.”
Her lips curved up fully, and she shrugged. “Occasionally.”
“I think,” he said, considering the warm and cozy house, the lovely little kid on the porch, the self-effacing humor and the solid parenting, “a lot more than occasionally.”
She stared at him for a beat. “Thanks,” she whispered, then, “Please, sit,” she added, sinking down onto the couch.
And immediately popped to her feet on a wince.
Finn opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, but then she moved a pillow and held up a plastic unicorn with a seriously deadly-looking horn. “What were you saying about not seeing toys scattered everywhere?”
He snorted. “To Rylie’s credit, it appears to be less scattered and more strategically placed.”
She laughed.
His breath caught, heart squeezing at the lovely, light sound, one that seemed to fit so well in this room and yet one that he had the feeling was rare.
Because even during the conversation, even though she was bantering with him, the hurt was still there. Beneath the surface, calling his white knight tendencies to high alert, even though he had a boatload of his own problems and had absolutely no business even considering playing the white knight.
But also . . . this woman didn’t need a white knight.
Just as he could feel the sadness, he could sense that much as well.
She might be hurt, but she was also strong. Fragile exterior, steel beneath.
And that push-pull made her the most interesting person he’d met in a long time.
“I really am impressed by the space you created,” he said into the quiet that had fallen, taking a seat next to her when she lowered herself back onto the couch.
Shannon frowned. “You’re not a real estate agent, are you?”
“What? No,” he said. “I just . . . studied design for a bit.” Which was true, if someone considered a bit being three weeks in preparation for a movie role where he played a designer whose life was falling apart.
Maybe he should have studied the life falling apart portion of the story more than fleshing out his design skills.
“Sometimes good window dressings make all the difference.”
“That and closed doors,” he quipped.
“True.” Her lips quirked. Her eyes warmed.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked, gesturing toward a doorway that led through to the kitchen, if the glimpse of white cabinets Finn could see was any indication.
“Got anything that goes well with apples?”
There.
Every nerve in his body stood at attention.
Because there it was. Finally.
And her smile—a real one—was just as incredible as he’d thought it would be. It was almost tangible, caressing his skin, warming him from the inside out, making his lips tingle with need, his cock twitch.
All from a smile.
Inner alarm bells rang out, signaling danger.
But it was danger he didn’t want to avoid. It was danger he wanted. A slippery slope that was both intoxicating and terrifying.
“Come into the kitchen, Finn,” she said, pushing to her feet. “And I’ll rock your world.”
“Why does that sound like a challenge?” He lifted a brow.
“Have you ever had peanut butter milk and apples?”
“Can’t say I have.” He made a face. “Also, I can’t say that peanut butter milk sounds good.”
“Okay, honey.” The real smile never left her face, her soft words drifting down Finn’s spine. “You come into my kitchen, and I’ll rock your world.”
His breath caught and he followed her into the other room, ready to be rocked
But the truth was that she’d already rocked his world.
With her smile and her sad eyes. With her laughter and poking fun at herself. With how she looked at and talked to her daughter. Even before he tried her peanut butter milk—which was really more milkshake than milk and delicious as hell.
It should also be noted that rocked his world as well.
Seven
No Tears Spilled, Only Milk
Shannon
She hurried to the kitchen, cheeks blazing.
Honey.
Why in the devil had she