Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,78

it.

One night I cook my favorite dish for them: fish tacos with lime and cilantro. I even make homemade sangria to go with it.

“Why can't I taste the sangria?” Aaron asks.

“It's a grown-up drink,” his mother says, giving me a sideways glance. Ginny was perfectly happy to see me show up here a few nights ago. But with each passing day, she seems less happy to see me.

Posy is the opposite. Even now, as her sister gives me a death glare, Posy smooths the arch of her bare foot over mine. She gives me a soft smile and takes another sip of sangria.

I pick up the pitcher and refill her glass. I’d do anything to get another smile from her. This is new for me—all this domestic tranquility. I like it more than I expected to. “Have another taco,” I say, offering her the platter.

“Do you cook for your wife?” Aaron asks suddenly. He takes another taco, too.

“Nope. I don’t have one.”

“Why not?”

“Some men don't want a wife,” Ginny says quickly. “They're not the marrying kind.” The look she gives me implies that she's put me firmly in this category.

“Maybe I just never got around to it yet,” I argue. She thinks she's got me all figured out. “I travel a lot. My job is hard.”

“Your job making coffee?” Aaron asks.

Ginny snickers into her sangria glass.

“I’ve worked many jobs,” I clarify. “I move around a lot. It’s very distracting.” I can’t really explain to him that my job is dangerous. That I need to keep my focus on the work.

“Can we play Go Fish after dinner?” Aaron asks me.

“What about your reading?” Ginny asks.

“I could read to Gunnar,” Aaron says. “And then play cards.”

Yup. Sometimes my job takes many forms. “Sure, pal.” I don’t mind the little guy’s company. He’s awfully cute. “But I have to clean up the kitchen first.”

“I’ll clean up,” Posy says. “You cooked.”

“I guess that's a yes, kid.”

Aaron slides off his chair and runs to get his book. “I hope the men never finish painting your apartment,” he says. “I like it when you're here.”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “They'll finish all right,” she says. “Men always do.”

Yeah, I’m not touching that one. It’s obvious that Ginny has some baggage. Her boy’s father is in prison for passing bad checks. That can’t be easy.

I feel like a heel for lying to the child about my presence, but the truth isn't a good option. I don't want to explain why we're taking extra precautions with building security. And I really don't want to explain that I never actually use that blanket and pillow we've left each night on Posy’s sofa.

Thank goodness the kid’s room is a floor below, and Posy’s bed doesn't creak. I'd hate to try to think of a passable explanation for all the noises Posy makes when the grown-ups have their bedtime.

Aaron returns with a book and beckons me over to the sofa. And I listen to him read a pointless story about a snail, while Posy smiles at me over the rim of her wine glass.

And Ginny glares.

Two hours later, I’ve got Posy mostly naked and whimpering into my mouth as I kiss her senseless. When I break off the kiss, she looks up at me with trusting eyes. Her cheeks are pink and her lips are swollen from my kisses. “Why aren’t you naked yet?” she asks, reaching for my fly.

“Because I like to torture you a little bit,” I say, leaning down to kiss her neck.

She shoves at my zipper, then tries to push down my trousers. “Off,” she says impatiently.

“And people say you aren’t fun in bed,” I tease her.

“Don’t mention him,” she grumbles. “That’s not a turn-on.”

“I rest my case,” I say, kicking off the pants. “You’re always fun, Posy. If a little impatient.” I lean down and drag my tongue across her collar bone.

She squirms beneath me, her legs wrapping around mine. She’s begging me with her eyes to hurry up.

Naturally, that means I plan to go even slower.

I kiss my way across her chest at a languorous pace. She’s still wearing a bra, though, along with some little red panties. So she reaches back to unclasp her bra.

“Hey now,” I say, gasping her hands and stopping their business. “We’re doing this my way.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because my way is fun.”

She groans. “I’m beginning to wonder whether men and women have the same idea of fun. Your way takes too long.”

“Says you.” I remove my T-shirt and toss it off the