As he stood there, jaw hanging open, Morgan came out of the kitchen area expertly balancing a serving platter filled with roast beef, mashed potatoes, and carrots in one hand. She wore a checkered apron and a pair of cowboy boots. When she spotted him, she did a little spin, showing him the only thing she wore underneath was a tiny red thong and matching bra. “Welcome home, husband. I didn’t cook this meal but I’m wearing the apron anyway. You like?”
He growled and took a step toward her, the need to have her way too strong to deny. “You. Me. Now.”
He was reduced to using one-word sentences like a caveman. He might as well beat his chest and pull out a club.
She crossed the room and laughed, holding the platter of food out at him with one hand and touching his lips with the other. “Not yet. You need to eat the meal I ordered first.” He licked a drip of gravy off of her finger, their gazes locked the whole time. “Then you can have me any way you want me.”
When had he died and gone to heaven? And what had he done to deserve this? To deserve her? The scent of dinner wafted over, making his stomach rumble. Usually after work, he heated up a frozen dinner or made grilled cheese…if he was feeling adventurous. But this? This was too much—in a good way.
Maybe he did need a wife. His stomach would thank him, if nothing else.
“I don’t know which one I want more, you or the dinner,” he said.
“Why settle for one when you can have both?” She set the platter down on the table and sidled up to him, then gripped his tie and yanked him down for a kiss. When she pulled away, she smiled up at him. “I figured if I was going to pretend to be a wife for a little while, I might as well feed you. I draw the line at cooking, though. It’s not my style.”
He snorted and cupped her bare ass, hauling her closer. He couldn’t not touch her. “Not all wives live in the kitchen. Some do work. You know that, right?”
“Sure.” She flicked her tongue over his, then backed out of his arms. When he made as if to grab her, she shook her finger in his face. “Not yet. Anyway…they still do the cooking.”
“Not always.” He scratched his head. “If we were really married, I would share the kitchen duties with you.”
She eyed him. “You cook?”
“Uh…well…I’d try.”
A cocky grin slid into place. “Exactly. And my version of cooking is ordering off a menu. Therefore…welcome home, darling husband.” She nudged him toward his chair. “But don’t get used to it. I’ll be gone on Friday.”
He froze halfway to his seat. “What?”
“We agreed until the end of the week, right?”
“Yeah.” He hesitated. He hadn’t meant Friday, damn it. He wasn’t ready for her to go yet. Just needed a little bit more time in her arms. Another couple of nights, and she would be out of his blood. “But can you make it Saturday instead?”
“I don’t know.” She opened her mouth and closed it, looking torn. Was it so hard to spend one extra night with him, for f**k’s sake? “Why?”
“Saturday is Kiersten’s wedding. You could be my plus one.”
She sat down, her stare latched with his. “Wouldn’t you rather go alone and hit on the lonely women? Weddings are prime hunting grounds, aren’t they?”
Yes. But why would he want to hunt when he already had the best catch in his room? Wearing nothing but an apron, some red scraps of lace that barely covered her perfect dancer’s body, and a pair of cowboy boots? “No. I’d rather bring my wife.”
She swallowed hard. “We can’t go as husband and wife. No one knows.”
“Actually…” He averted his eyes and tugged on his tie.
“You told them?”
“I only told Brianna.” He looked back at her and flinched. She didn’t look too happy with him right now. “But with how fast news spreads in my family, the grocery store clerk knows by now.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Why did you—?”
“It’ll be okay. I promise.” He leaned in and tried to catch her gaze. “Please go with me?”
She dropped her hand and gave him a skeptical look. “Okay. But then it’s over. I go back to being a dancer and you go back to being…you. Whatever that entails.”
“Fine.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his fingers at his stomach. “But you’re ignoring one small fact.”
“And that is?”
He canted his head. “You might not want to leave me at the end of the week. You might want more from me. You might want to love me.”
Chapter Eleven
Morgan cut a piece of roast beef off and stared at her plate, her good mood ruined. “I’m leaving, no matter what.”
She knew she sounded cold and unfeeling when she refused to even think about a future between them, but it’s the way she had to live. She had goals. Priorities. Letting a man into her world would only mess it all up—even if she was, for the first time, tempted to do exactly that.
Her path had always been so clear before but somehow Mike made everything all fuzzy.
What if she did fall in love with him and they gave this marriage a real chance? Could a man like Mike—a man who swore to avoid marriage at all cost—really be happy with just one woman? Especially a woman who would be on the road a good portion of the time, leaving him on his own?
She feared it was the chase that drove him, not the reality of actually catching her.
What if she gave up her dream only to find out a year from now that Mike really didn’t want to be married to her?
No, she couldn’t risk it. She had to stay firm in her decision to leave at the end of the week.
“Mike, I—”
“So even if you fell in love with a guy, you’d leave him?” he interrupted, leaning forward. He watched her as a predator watches its prey, and she fidgeted. He sought out weaknesses, and she couldn’t show him any. “Just walk away?”
If ever a man could awaken her heart, it would be Mike. Everything about him called to her, begged for her attention.
Begged to be loved by her.
No.
“Yeah, I guess so.” She forced a casual shrug. “I’ve never been in love but I probably love dancing more than I’ll ever love a man.”
He relaxed in his chair again. “Oh. So you’ve never been in love, then?”
“Nope. Never wanted it.” She took a long sip of wine. “And you?”