Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,49
brow would furrow with worry, and he knew she was stressing over something. He had a feeling it was because she was hearing the ticking of the clock. Frankly, he was stressing over it, too.
When he’d agreed to her one-week-only terms, he hadn’t been thinking about much beyond getting her naked. Saying goodbye hadn’t sounded so painful if it meant a week of mind-altering sex. But now that he’d become addicted to that mind-altering sex, and, he greatly feared, the woman with whom he was having it, her imminent departure weighed on him heavily.
So ask her to stay. Or to at least keep the lines of communication open when she leaves.
The thought had definitely occurred to him. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to broach the subject with her. He didn’t want her to go, but he also didn’t want to spoil the last few days of the week she’d allotted them by pushing for more before she was ready.
She reached the porch, and he opened the door before she could even grasp the knob.
“Hi.”
The furrow and the frown disappeared, as did the faintly slumped shoulders that hinted she bore some heavy weight. He would like to help her with that, but whenever their conversations turned too personal, she changed the subject by dropping an item of clothing.
Somehow, that always worked.
She draped what looked like a glittery, siren-red dress—God help him—over the railing at the bottom of the stairs. “Hi, yourself.”
Stepping into his arms, she lifted her face for a kiss, and he welcomed her. It felt as right as everything else about them, this easy, coming-home embrace, as if they’d always walked into each other’s arms at the end of a day.
“Success?” he asked.
She nodded. “A little out of my price range, but some of those boutiques are amazing. I think you’re going to like my pretty new outfit.”
The way she said it made it sound like the thing was sweet and innocent. He knew, however, judging by that color and the scantiness of the material, that it would be anything but.
“You’re messing with me, right?”
“Oh, absolutely. You’re going to love my wicked new take-me-now dress.”
He could hardly wait. But considering he’d made other plans for this evening, wanting to show her they could be more to each other than just incredibly erotic sex partners, he figured that would have to wait.
“Did you eat?”
“Nope.”
“Good.” He took her arm and steered her toward the living room, which he’d set up for tonight’s surprise.
When she saw the large, old-fashioned movie projector, and the screen he’d erected against the far wall, she clapped her hands together. “Movie night?”
“You got it.”
Smiling broadly, she walked over to the couch, then saw the feast he’d spread out on the coffee table just beyond it. He had never taken her to a movie, so he’d had to guess what her favorite candy would be. Covering all the bases had seemed like a good idea at the time.
“Hot dogs, nachos, popcorn...oh, my God. Dots? You bought me Dots? They’re my absolute favorite,” she gushed, hurrying over and plucking that box from among all the other junk food he’d piled onto the table. “If there’s a wedding ring in this box, I’ll say yes on the spot.”
She was laughing, her eyes sparkling, but the moment the words left her mouth, she winced and bit her bottom lip. Obviously sheepish, she mumbled, “Sorry, I was just...”
“I know,” he said, waving off her explanations. To be honest, he didn’t want to discuss that topic any more than she did. Not because he was upset she’d mentioned it, but because the idea wasn’t as immediately horrifying as he’d have thought a few weeks ago. No, he was in no way ready to get married. But since meeting Candace, he no longer considered marriage to be a dirty word.
He couldn’t help wondering if costume designers could telecommute. How strange would it be if it turned out that he’d come up to Sonoma to find out what he wanted from the rest of his life and discovered what he wanted lived back in L.A.?
“So, what are we watching?” she asked as she kicked off her shoes and plopped onto the couch. “One of your great-grandfather’s hits?”
“I don’t know if it was a hit,” he said, eyeing the metal case in which the movie reel had been packed. He walked over to the projector, through which he’d already threaded the film, and flipped it on. Dimming the lights, he explained, “I haven’t seen