She stared at him in disbelief as he shuffled her down the hall.
He caught sight of her face, stopped before they turned to the stairs and said, “It comes down to your thighs, baby. You’re far more covered than you were in your nightie when you made pancakes that first time.”
“I wasn’t just in a nightie. I was also wearing a robe,” she replied impatiently.
He grinned and his face got close as his hands slid down over her behind and pulled her h*ps to him. “That robe didn’t cover f**k all.”
“It certainly did!” she snapped.
His grin turned devilish. “Trust me. It did no’.”
She ignored how attractive his devilish grin was and this was hard to do, considering she hadn’t seen it in twenty years and she remembered how she particularly liked it. “It most certainly did.”
“Aye, I’ll admit, on the face of it, it did. If you have a creative imagination, which I do,” he said, his fingers tensing deliciously in the flesh of her backside. “It… did… no’.”
She was staggered.
“Are you saying…?”
“Aye.”
“Back then… when you…?”
“Aye.”
“You thought of me…?”
“Aye.”
He was growling again.
It felt like velvet again.
Regardless, Elle was stunned.
“But…” she whispered, “you hated me.”
All playfulness swept instantly from his face, his hands went to her waist and curled around, holding her close.
“I’ve never hated you, Elle.”
“But –”
“There were plenty of times I wanted to hate you, over the years and recently, but I could never do it.”
“But –”
“No’ ever.”
“Pren –”
He kissed her quiet.
He took his time and did this thoroughly.
When he lifted his head he repeated fiercely, “Baby. No’ ever.”
She felt tears hit her eyes and she whispered, “Really?”