Chapter Thirteen
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, her mouth falling open into the sexiest, most perfect O he’d ever seen.
She swallowed. Then did it again.
“Still sure?”
He watched the question penetrate. A tiny head bob, and then “go for it,” told him everything he needed to know.
In one swift move, he slid his hands under her butt, lifted her and settled his mouth between her legs, his tongue sliding into all her heat.
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” she gasped.
“Baby, you’re drenched.” He dropped a kiss on each thigh, then dragged his mouth to the top of them.
Little whimpers broke from the back of her throat when he dipped his tongue inside and tasted her, lapping every inch he could reach.
He found the little button of flesh, hidden at the top, licked it once, then sucked it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, while he pumped two fingers inside her.
Her body vibrated against him as his fingers curled and gently scraped at her walls, his tongue dedicated to pleasuring her.
Gemma’s hips bucked off the bed, her insides clenching and squeezing around his fingers. From his vantage point he watched her shove her fist into her mouth to drown the scream of the climax whipping through her. Her breaths came in short, hard spurts, her breasts jumping with each swift intake of air. With his free hand he reached up and rolled one of her nipples between his fingers.
The muscles in her thighs clenched like a vise around him. One hand braced at the back of his head, holding him in place as he stayed with her until she rode the wave home.
God, she was beautiful, even more than he’d fantasized she could be. She might not think she needed romantic words, but watching her come, knowing he was the cause of such pleasure, made him want to say them to her.
When she opened her eyes, polished sapphires shined back at him.
He slid his fingers from inside her and sucked them into his mouth, smiling as he watched her face react.
She sat up in a flash and before he could draw breath she had him flat on his own back, her hands pushing his shoulders down against the bed, forcing him there as she straddled him.
He felt all her wet heat tantalizingly close, just nuzzling the erection poking through his boxers. He let out a ragged breath so deep his abdomen went concave with the effort.
Sitting on top of him, her weight balanced on her knees, he throbbed against her, wanting, needing, release.
Like a hunter finding prey, Gemma smiled down at him as she ground herself against him, then quickly pulled back.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Her smile turned wicked and playful as she gave his words back to him. “Be sure you want this to happen between us. I’ve been walking around wet and wanting for days”—she bent to lick his nipple—“so be sure, because”—she licked the other one—“I know I won’t be able to stop if we keep going.”
He lifted his shoulders and pushed against her hold to grab the back of her neck and yank her in close.
“Still sure?” she asked and then swiped her tongue across his chin.
“Abso-frigging-lutely.”
He reversed their positions before she could blink and nestled himself between her thighs, nudging them apart with his knees.
If it was physically possible he went harder when she giggled.
Gemma slid her hands along his back until they were inside his boxers. “Take these off,” she commanded, pushing them off his waist and down over his butt. “Now.”
“Bossy, much?” He shifted back on his knees and yanked them down and off, tossing them carelessly to the floor.
He kept a watchful look on her eyes. His heart stopped for a few beats when they drifted down to see him, naked and pulsing, and turned the color of ripe blueberries after a rainfall: shiny, moist, rich.
Gemma reached out and fisted her hand around his shaft.
“Talk about someone being perfect,” she whispered. She ran her thumb along the top edge of him and massaged the silky drop of fluid she found around its head.
Ky threw back his head, stretching his neck and digging deep for control. The precise, smooth friction of her hand as it moved up and down the length of him was tortuous ecstasy. When her hand dipped down to cup his balls, he covered it with his own.
“Baby, you need to stop that or this will be over way too soon.”
Smiling, she slid her hands around his back and pulled him down on top of her. “We wouldn’t want that,” she said against his lips.
Kissing her was an experience all in itself. From the back of his mind the notion bloomed that he could be happy for the rest of his life just kissing Gemma Laine.
Soon, too soon, he needed to do more than just kiss her.
Tucked between her legs, his erection pressed against her stomach and throbbing for release, her legs wrapped around his waist, he broke from her lips, touched his forehead to hers and inhaled deeply.
Gemma opened her eyes. While her nails raked gently up and down his back and across his shoulders, she said, “Okay. My turn to ask. What’s wrong?”
He dropped a soft kiss to her nose. “I want to be inside you.” His lips dragged to her neck, kissed the sweet spot behind her ear. When her entire body shuddered against him, he had to count to ten so he wouldn’t embarrass himself and spill all over her. “I want to pound into you hard and fast, over and over, until I make you scream when you come.”
Gemma moaned and tightened her legs around him.
“And then I want to do it all again.”
An oath whispered through her lips. “Okay.” She swallowed. “Are you asking permission? Because if you are then, hell yeah. Go for it.”
How could a woman make him so hard he could drill through concrete and laugh at the same time?
He kissed her lips again and smiled. “I was pretty confident you were already on board,” he told her, moving to kiss her cheek, then up to her brows.
“Okay, so? What are you waiting for?” She wiggled her hips again, making him blind for a second.
He lifted his head and looked down at her face, pinched now in confusion.
“I don’t have anything to protect you with.”
“Oh.” Her expression cleared. “Oh!”
“I didn’t plan on this…happening between us. I’m not prepared the way I should be. I don’t want to take a chance on you getting pregnant.”
Her eyes shifted, softened. She lifted a hand to his cheek. He kissed her palm and swore he heard her sigh.
“Move back.” She lifted herself and shoved against him. He sat back on his knees.
“Lay down,” she commanded.
His lips twisted. “You like giving orders.”
“Trust me, this time you’ll be glad you obeyed,” she said, while settling next to him.
“Now,” she molded her hand against his erection and tugged. “While I’d simply love to have you inside me,” she licked him from bottom to top on the underside of his shaft, “pounding hard and fast until I came screaming,” she trailed her tongue down the other side, “it’ll be more fun for me to watch while I make you come, screaming.” She took him, all of him, in her mouth.
Ky almost shot off the bed. Christ, she was gonna kill him. He was just about to tell her that when all logical, sentient, conscious, thought flew from his head. Her hand followed her mouth as she pumped him up and down, her tongue doing wild and imaginative things to his tip.
No amount of counting, conjugating Greek verbs, or reciting geometry theorems could calm him. He felt a sharp twist in his lower back coil deeper and speed to his groin as Gemma’s pace quickened.
When he came, just quick enough to clamp his lips together before he really did scream her name, she stayed with him until the end, as he had her, her lips cuddled around him with every thrust and explosion until he was empty.
The bed shifted, then the sound of the water running in the adjoining bathroom met his ears. Next time, he’d make sure to have a condom. No, several.
His eyes flew open to stare at the ceiling.
Next time.
Christ, his pulse hadn’t even calmed yet and he was already thinking of next time. He closed his eyes again.
Yeah, there was gonna be a next time with Gemma. Many next times. They’d started something he wanted, needed to explore further. She was such a dichotomy of independence and need; physically tough, yet he sensed she was emotionally fragile. The hard exterior she showed the world, he knew hid the heart of a softie. She was an awful lot like the women in his own family. More times than he could remember his father had claimed the true head of the family was the woman because she had the strength of a lion and the heart of a dove.
Yeah, there were going to be many, many more next times with Gemma Laine.
His breathing hadn’t calmed, his heart still hammering against his ribs when she came back into the room.
Flat on his back, his arms splayed at his sides, he didn’t want to move; couldn’t if he had to.
He opened his eyes again and found her standing next to the bed twisting her T-shirt and shorts in her hands, looking down at him. The corner of her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth.
He reached out a hand to her, and, when she slipped hers into it, he tugged her back down on the bed. “You okay?”
She nodded.
Her gaze dropped to the clothes in her hands and he realized she was nervous. Gone was the bravado and cockiness of just a few minutes before. He squeezed the hand he held. “Gemma, look at me.”
When she did, he worried his thumb across her knuckles. “Stay?”
Surprise rose to her eyes first then traveled down to her mouth. He thought she was going to refuse, so before she could he added, “please?”
This time, when the surprise grew, she grinned. “I don’t usually do sleepovers.”
He understood since he didn’t make a habit of them either.
But.
“Well,” he shifted his head on the pillow and kept her hand in his, “it’s not like a real sleepover. You room is just a few yards away, not in another location. It’s really you’re just sleeping in a different bed in the same house. Trying a new one on for size.”
That glorious giggle was back and Ky swore he could live off just the sound of it and the expression on her face when she made it.
Her pajamas were tossed unceremoniously back onto the floor. Ky shifted, dragged the sheets down and then pulled her under with him.
Spooning, he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her in place and smiled when she grabbed his wrist.
“Get some sleep,” he said into her hair, inhaling the fragrance of cherries lingering there. For the rest of his life he knew he’d associate the scent with Gemma.
“I’m really glad we…talked,” she whispered sleepily a few minutes later.
Ky fell asleep with a smile.
* * *
With extreme care so she wouldn’t disturb him, Gemma unwrapped Ky’s hand from around her waist. One finger, then the next, and then the next until, finally, he stirred, shifted, and fell to his back, still sound asleep.
The medallion at his neck slipped to the side of the pillow. Gemma smoothed its raised edges and regarded the man lying next to her, the first and only man she’d ever spent an entire night with.
His hair looked like he’d just combed it, even though she’d almost pulled it bald the times he’d had his head between her legs during the night. After their first…talk…he’d woken her twice more, taking his time to wring any number of orgasms from her—she’d stopped counting at four—to the two more she brought from him.
In sleep his features were comfortable and relaxed. Gone was the coiled tension he’d been filled with since she’d first met him. She’d been able to give him a few hours of escape, as he’d done for her.
But now it was morning.
Watching him, she slid to the side of the bed, dropped one foot, then the other, onto the floor and eased up to stand. She crept to where she’d thrown her clothes, grabbed them and then went into the adjoining bathroom. When she was dressed, she exited through the hallway door.
The house was silent as she made her way back to her own room to ready for the day.
The connecting bathroom door was open and when she peeked in, Rick’s room was empty, the bed made.
She hadn’t known he was an early riser.
After washing and dressing in fresh yoga pants and a T-shirt, the majority of the clothing style Kandy had packed for her, she went downstairs to see what she could make them all for breakfast.
From the kitchen, she heard the water from the downstairs’ shower go on.
So. He was awake.
Would he act any different toward her this morning? Would she? Gemma didn’t do mornings after for a reason. All the speculation, the overthinking, the analyzing of what had been shared the night before; what did it mean, if anything other than a slaking of a physical need. What it could mean if continued.
Ky was such a professional Gemma worried he’d be filled with regrets at sleeping with the person he was responsible for protecting. Knowing how seriously he took his job and having seen it for herself, she didn’t want him to feel sorry for what they’d shared during the night. She certainly didn’t.
And they had shared something, some…connection. She could admit she’d never been so free and uninhibited with a man as she had been with Ky. Forget that he had the kind of body a woman, any woman, would want to run her hands and tongue over. Forget that just hearing the raspy, seductive bedroom timbre in his voice made her want to get naked and busy in a heartbeat. And forget the way he’d been considerate enough to give her multiple outs before they got too hot and heavy. Forgetting all those things, she actually liked him.
She’d been more intimate with him than with any other man she’d ever been with, and, in reality, they hadn’t even slept together. They’d done everything but, and she’d felt more fulfilled, more satisfied, more just plain wanted than she could remember ever feeling.
Before he’d asked her to spend the night in his bed, she’d been wondering how she could broach the subject and ask him if she could stay without sounding needy or clingy. She’d been telling him the truth when she said she never stayed over at a lover’s house. Gemma didn’t feel the need to cuddle and share a bed for the night. Sex was one thing; tenderness and affection were something entirely else. She didn’t do intimacy, didn’t share emotions.
Until last night.
Last night, she’d wanted to fall asleep with Ky’s arms around her; wanted to lie next to him all night, luxuriating in his warmth, listening to him breathe; she wanted to wake up with him.
He’d stripped her of all the protective maneuvers to safeguard her heart and pride.
Never let a guy get close enough to see your heart, your true self. It was a creed she’d lived by all her adult life, in every dealing with men she’d had.
Gemma dated. Often. Dinner, drinks, a few Broadway shows and a nightclub now and then. She didn’t sleep with most of the men she dated, though. The guy usually got the message he wasn’t wanted in that way and the offers to go out stopped. But they would remain cordial to one another, and no hearts were ever fractured or broken. It was a system she’d cultivated, and had some measure of success with, since none of her dates ever had a bad word to say about her.
But she hadn’t dated Ky, and yet, somehow, he’d gotten her to break all her rules and personal commandments.
How? How had he done it?
Gemma shook her head. She wouldn’t think about that now, afraid the answers might not be the ones she really wanted to hear.
In the past, Gemma had been gone before breakfast had ever been a thought. Not possible now since they were basically imprisoned in the house. She had to face Ky, face what they’d done. Face what they’d shared.
For some strange reason she couldn’t name, she wasn’t as unnerved by the prospect as she would have thought she’d be.
Her one hope was he’d felt the same connection she had. Until she knew, though, she’d play it cool. It wouldn’t do to have him know how much she’d treasured the night.
She opened the fresh bread Rick had brought with him, took the eggs and milk from the refrigerator, and snooped around in the cabinets until she found some nutmeg, cinnamon sugar, and apple pie spice.
The pan had just come to temperature, the butter sizzling, when Ky came out of his bedroom adjusting the collar on his shirt.
She’d told herself she wouldn’t react to him until she was able to gauge his mood. The moment their gazes connected across the counter, she knew that was impossible. The fingers holding the spatula gripped the utensil harder. The quickened sound of her breathing filled the small cooking space, making it sound as if she stood in an echo chamber.
He looked, well…like a man who’d spent the night having sex: content, relaxed, sated. And as drop-dead gorgeous as usual. His sun-kissed hair was damp from the shower and finger-combed in place, his skin faintly flushed. His eyes were alert and when they zeroed in on her, she watched them rake across her face, a silent question in them.
“Good morning,” she said, hating the tiny tremble in her voice.
Ky nodded. “Morning.”
“I-I’m making French toast. For breakfast. We never got to eat yours the other day, and I, well, I’ve been craving it ever since then and now that we have the ingredients, I figured, why not? We haven’t exactly been eating too well for the past few days.”
Jesus, Gemma, shut up!
She clamped her mouth closed, mortified by her nerves. Turning back to the stove, she tossed in a few slices of the bread she’d already soaked. She hadn’t even known Ky’d moved until she felt the air surrounding her shift and heat. When his lips brushed her ear—not a kiss, but almost—she startled.
His hand settled on her lower back. In that quiet, low and pelvis clenching voice he said, “First a sleepover and now breakfast. I’m feeling pretty grateful on both counts. And French toast, to boot.”
When he chuckled and squeezed her waist she almost dropped the spatula.
She turned to him, an acerbic retort on her lips and simply forgot what she wanted to say when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. The spatula hit the counter, freeing both her hands, which flew immediately around his neck and clutched.
He deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and then pillaging. When her knees started to shake he simply pushed her back until she hit the counter, never once breaking the kiss. His leg insinuated itself between her thighs, rubbing along her mound and her body shook all the way to her unshod toes.
Her worried thoughts of a few moments ago dissipated with each insistent lap and nip of his mouth. How could she have ever thought she could play it cool with him after last night? One look, one kiss, one swipe of his body against hers and she was lost.
Good Lord, the man had a mouth created for kissing.
His lips left hers to slide along her cheek, behind her ear, along her neck.
“Gemma?” He sucked her ear lobe between his teeth and gently bit down.
Her entire body hummed with arousal. “Hmmmm?”
“You smell like cinnamon and sugar.” He licked her chin and crossed to her other side. “And you taste like…heaven.”
Gemma tilted her head back and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the feel of his mouth caressing her body. She was starting to rethink her whole morning after avoidance. If this was what waited for her after a sleepover, well, why would she ever evade it?
“Baby, something’s burning.” Ky’s mouth found the sweet spot at her collar and licked.
“Hmmm. It’s me.”
Oh, Christ! Did she really say that out loud?
A warm, deep chuckle blew into her ear as he squeezed her butt between his hands. “In addition to you,” he said.
Gemma’s eyes flew open. “My toast.” She pushed against the solid concrete wall of his chest and turned. The bread she’d placed in the pan was sizzling.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” She grabbed the fallen spatula and turned each blackened piece over, the smoky smell of burning bread filling the air.
“These are toast. Literally.” She threw them into the sink and ran cool water over them.
When he laughed behind her, she turned and glared at him. “You shouldn’t distract a girl like that when she’s cooking.” The smoke detector shrilled on a second later, exploding into the room. Gemma dropped the pan into the sink and yelped. “Oh, great!”
Rick bolted into the kitchen from the door leading out to the garage a heartbeat later. He was sopping wet, sweat cascading down his entire body. A Glock poised in his hand, his gaze bounced from Gemma to Ky and then to the smoke wafting up from the sink.
Without a word, he slid his gun into the back waistband of his sweatpants and disappeared into the pantry. The smoke alarm quieted.
When he came back into the kitchen, his eyes found Gemma. With his hands fisted at his waist, a half twist to his lips, he said, “I am so busting you to Kandy.”
“Traitor,” Gemma mumbled. “It wasn’t my fault.” She slid her gaze to Ky. “I got…sidetracked.”
She felt her face heat when he glanced from her to Ky, his eyebrows lifting, and then his jaw tightening. The fisted hands at his waist dropped to his sides, clenching and unclenching. A vein pulsed at his temple as he took a step forward. The look he threw Ky was part anger, part warning, and all seriously pissed alpha-male.
Knowing how his mind worked, how he considered her more sister than friend, and having seen for herself what he was capable of when mad, Gemma crossed the small expanse of the kitchen and stood between the two men, using her body as a barrier.
Ky hadn’t moved. He’d dropped his hands in his pants pockets as soon as Rick sprinted into the kitchen, and maintained a nonthreatening stance. But Gemma could see the checked tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing accelerated, and knew if provoked, he’d fight back.
She faced Rick, placed a restraining hand on his chest. “Don’t,” she said. “Please.”
His heated glare shot to her, swiped across her face, searching. The subtle lines on his forehead deepened. “Cleo?”
“It’s okay. Really,” she told him. “Everything is okay.” Only when she stretched up and kissed his cheek did he relent.
“You smell like a locker room,” she told him, punching him in the abdomen. He didn’t even flinch. “Go have a shower. Go. Breakfast will be ready when you’re done.”
His eyes softened, the lids falling to half-open. “Promise you won’t burn it?”
Gemma dropped her chin and glared at him. “Beggars and being choosey. Ever heard of it?”
He threw his hands up in surrender. “Just asking.”
“Just saying,” she shot back.
He grinned at her. When he shifted to stare at Ky, he dropped it.
Without another word, Rick went up the stairs.
When he was out of earshot, Gemma sighed.
“He’s very protective of you,” Ky said. “And he loves you very much.”
Gemma turned around to face him, embarrassed and unsure, two things she never was. She shrugged and stared down at the floor.
Ky stepped toward her and wrapped his hands around her upper arms. “Look at me.”
She did. The expression on his face was guarded, his eyes narrowed, his brow pulled low as he peered at her. On a deep breath, he said, “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but,” he squeezed her arms, “I need to know. Are you having any regrets about last night?”
Gemma bit the corner of her bottom lip as she stared up at him. “Are you?”
She held her breath until he answered. Which was immediately and accompanied by his head shaking left to right.
“None.” He smiled at her then. “Abso-friggin-lutely none.”
His grin was infectious. She could live off it if she had to. “Ditto,” she told him.
“Good to know.” His lips softened as he drew her closer. When they covered her mouth in a sweet, gentle reminder of what they’d shared a tiny crack split along Gemma’s protected heart, allowing the notion of possibilities and future happiness to weave its way in.
Why she wasn’t scared out of her shoes at the thought was a mystery, but a mystery best left to figure out at another time.
“Now let me restart breakfast.” She pulled away from him. “And no distractions this time,” she added, shaking her finger at him.
His response was to grab her finger, then her whole hand and place a kiss to her palm.
That little crack widened.
* * *
Rick came back down, showered and dressed just as Gemma pulled the last piece of toast from the griddle pan.
“Well, it smells better in here than it did a few minutes ago,” he said, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the pot Ky had made.
Gemma glared at him.
“Oh, hey, I forgot.” He shot from the room and out the front door after disarming the security alarm. Ky filled his plate with toast.
“Here,” Gemma said. She sprinkled a dash of cinnamon and then powdered sugar over them, a dusty white cloud gusting up from the plate. “Secret ingredients.”
Ky grabbed her free hand and brought it to his mouth. He was rewarded when her eyes turned dewy and her lips lifted at the corners. He swore she sighed, but the sound was drowned out by Rick’s intentional throat clearing.
“Excuse me.” The sarcasm in his tone sounded terse and rude.
Gemma laughed. “Why? What did you do?” she asked, and then, on a squeal of delight ran to him and grabbed something from his arms.
“I left that in the car last night by mistake,” he said.
When she threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly and loudly on the mouth, saying, “Thank you, Jesus!” Ky’s stomach clenched.
Jealous. Damn it, he was jealous.
He had no reason to be because he knew the kiss was innocent and bestowed in appreciation, but never the less, a quick, hot and resounding shot of possession bulleted through his gut, shooting his blood pressure up into the red zone.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew the look Gemma had given him when he’d come in to the kitchen a while ago had been at best wary, at worst, remorseful for what they’d shared during the night. The thought she might be uncertain about how he felt in the light of day never entered his head until she’d bitten down on her lips and asked, “Are you?”
In that moment he added another descriptor to his growing dictionary of terms to associate with her: insecure. Not a word he’d ever think belonged to her.
Gemma Laine was a woman with impenetrable walls and enough trust issues to fill a psychiatrist’s couch for years. Her own brother-in-law had affirmed her problems with trust at the hospital. Until she’d shown up in his bedroom, he’d thought she didn’t like him and only tolerated him because she was forced to. The kiss aside, and it had been one hell of an unexpected response from her, Ky truly felt she’d rather be anywhere but in his company.
By some amazing twist of good fortune, though, she’d admitted to actually wanting him. He didn’t think it was simply because she was feeling a sexual itch and he was available, either. Gemma didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d easily give herself to a man to satisfy a basic need.
It had taken every ounce of self-respect, will, and internal fortitude he could muster to not toss her on the bed after she’d licked him—licked him!—and have at her without any further preamble. No, he’d called on all the gods he could name to slow him down, try to calm the raging lust driving through him, and bring her as much release and pleasure as he could.
It had been so worth it, too.
But he shouldn’t feel jealousy. In truth, she wasn’t his to be jealous over, but he had a hard time convincing himself of that.
“I’m surprised you’ve been able to go this many days without any,” Rick said as both men watched her fill a glass with ice from the freezer and then pour the diet soda she loved all the way to the top. When it threatened to spill over, Gemma grabbed up the glass and slurped at the overflowing liquid.
“Very classy, Cleo.” Rick smirked.
“Bite me.” She gave him a sweet smile that didn’t touch her eyes and then chugged a good, long draught.
Rick laughed out loud and shook his head. “Not an option.”
She drank almost the entire thing in one, long pull. When she dropped the glass from her lips, the look on her face reminded him of how she’d looked after coming apart in his hands the night before. Those self-same hands started to tremble with need when she threw back her head, closed her eyes and smacked at her lips.
“You look like you’ve just had the best sex of your life,” Rick said, giving a voice to Ky’s exact thoughts.
Gemma’s eyes sprang open, her expression wide and startled. Ky was dumbfounded when her cheeks turned candy-apple red, her pupils tuning to pinpoints.
Her eyes darted to him, her cheeks growing more heated.
Rick’s eyebrows slinked upward as he turned from Gemma to him, a question pounding in his glare.
Ky met his query, measure for measure, not backing down, not offering anything verbal. With as much nonchalance as he could call up, he lifted his coffee mug, sipped, and then placed the cup back down on the table, all the while holding the other man’s stare.
It was Rick who broke first. He lifted his plate to Gemma and asked, “Can I have some toast? Please?”
Gemma pulled out of her paralysis and dropped three pieces onto the plate.
Unlike with Ky, though, she didn’t offer the sugar. He should feel small for being so pleased by that gesture, but just couldn’t summon up any self-recrimination.
Gemma refilled her glass. She stole a glance at Ky, then said, “I’m going upstairs to work for a little while.”
“Stay off the Internet,” Rick said a heartbeat before Ky’s mouth formed the words. He was glad Rick beat him to it, because Gemma threw him a contemptuous glare and, with a hand on her hip, pursed her lips together and said to Rick, “I’m not a moron, you know,” before running up the stairs.
“I didn’t say you were,” Rick called after her just as the bedroom door slammed.
Alone now, the men regarded one another like young lions slinking around a new pride.
“So.” Rick shoved a forkful of toast into his mouth. “What’s going on with you and Gemma?”