“Yes,” I answered.
“Good,” he muttered.
I pressed my lips together, fighting a grin, hoping I got through even a little bit and I started to move away but his hand sliding back down to my neck and curling in a way that got my attention stopped me.
“I’ll do everything I can not to get that pissed at you again,” he promised on a whisper looking me straight in the eyes.
My heart skipped.
Yes, I was precious to him. He had a right to be pissed. I had a right to be scared. But I knew he’d stop it before it happened again and he’d do it for me.
Touched by an angel.
Yes.
I was precious.
“Thank you, honey,” I whispered back.
“Potatoes.”
“Right.”
His fingers dug in as he dropped his head and touched his mouth to mine before he let me go, I moved away and turned my attention to the potatoes.
* * * * *
“You gonna memorize the pattern of my chest hair or are you gonna get off me and read until two in the morning?”
At Chace’s question, I stopped doing what he said I was doing, running my eyes and fingertips over his chest hair and I tipped my head back to look at him.
I was on top of him wearing one of my nighties. He was under me, not wearing anything. He’d made love to me. I’d cleaned up, come back to bed and climbed on top of him. Thus commenced my avid perusal of his awesome chest hair.
“The house smells like my perfume,” I said quietly and this was no lie. I’d cleaned it up while Chace did the dinner dishes (even washing!) but the smell was still strong.
“I’ll buy you another bottle tomorrow,” he muttered, his hands moving over my skin low on my back and my booty. He’d slid up my nightie to gain access and, as ever, this felt nice.
“Chace,” I whispered then didn’t know how to go on so one of his hands dipped low and cupped my behind.
“Promised I’d try not to get that pissed again,” he reminded me softly.
“It isn’t that,” I told him.
“What is it?” he asked.
I took in a breath and let out the words. “You impersonated me with my friends.”
“Yep.”
I blinked.
That was his reply. Yep.
“But –”
“They were all over you and didn’t lead in slow. First it was about me and how you weren’t with me but I was with someone else and it degenerated from there. I get why you’d be pissed but I think you get why I did what I did.”
“How would you feel if I did something like that to you?”