Gabe dropped his keys into their holding dish, when what he really wanted to do was run out and pretend he hadn’t stepped into a time warp.
She had made his favorite meal. He had smelled it as soon as he stepped onto the front porch. His stomach betrayed him, growling loudly as he fought a completely different kind of hunger.
He couldn’t stop staring.
His wife—his estranged wife—slicing butter into a steaming dish of broccoli. Naked. Half naked, anyway.
His attraction to her had nothing to do with her, of that he was certain. Holy fuck—he couldn’t catch his breath as her t-shirt rode up to reveal a nearly bare ass while she reached up to a higher cabinet. Any man who had been without sex as long as he had would be rock hard at walking into his home and finding a domestic fantasy with long legs and a bare ass preparing his favorite meal.
Little did she know that his absolute favorite meal was her.
Fuck.
This wasn’t happening. He had managed to stay strong when he found her naked in his bed. He hadn’t woken her up and given her what they both wanted when he suffered with morning wood, made all the worse knowing that she was in his living room and would be willing. He had stayed strong when he had been tempted to come home mid-day, knowing she’d be sitting around waiting for him.
No way would this newest tactic of hers work.
He’d stay strong.
He’d get his divorce.
And then he’d move on.
He promised himself—again—that as soon as the divorce judgment was granted, he’d get laid.
He watched her hips move to the music. He imagined them moving against him.
“Wait a second, wasn’t this the song…”
She turned her head toward him, a devilish grin on her face as she tucked her chin into her shoulder. “Does it bring back memories?”
He kicked off his shoes and pretended he didn’t know what she meant. Pretended he didn’t have an instant, painful recollection of their awkward and magical first time together.
“Hungry?”
He grunted.
She carried a serving dish to the table, leaning over to place it in the middle and giving him a view that made his heart leap into his throat and his balls swell into globes.
He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheeks until he tasted blood on his tongue.
Self-inflicted pain proved to be no defense against that little slip of purple string riding up her well-formed and just-the-right-amount-of-jiggly ass cheeks.
Fuck.
Between the bulge pressing against his zipper and his blood pressure rising until he thought he might die if he didn’t bury himself inside her, he became glued to the spot.
If he stepped forward, he couldn’t be responsible for his lack of restraint.
He followed her every move as she brought two more serving dishes to the table, and each time, he had to bite a new part of his mouth. He thought he had ripped a chunk out of his lip, but as it began to swell, he realized it remained in place.
“What are you doing, Kenzie?”
She turned around, her face pink and innocent, reminding him of the time he had caught her practicing the way she would sign “Mrs. O’Brien” before they had even begun to date.
“Can’t a wife make her husband dinner without raising suspicions?”
Her voice sounded far more self-confident than he had ever heard her.
“You’re not my wife, Kenz. Only technically. And not for long.”
She looked away, the façade of self-confidence shimmering away as quickly as it had come. Long lashes swept her upper cheeks. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from rushing over to reassure her. She didn’t need his reassurance. She needed to know there was no chance of a reunification.
Teasing him with a great view and his favorite foods did not repair the damage she had wrought.
He waited, knowing she would rush off into the other room, dissolve into tears, and give up.
His heart burned at the thought, but giving up was the best thing they could do.
Her eyes opened in a heartbeat, and he was startled by the fire in them.
She hadn’t melted in the face of his rejection.
“Dinner is ready.”
She smiled and straightened her shoulders. Her nipples pressed against the shirt, luring him over. He stepped closer. Couldn’t help it. He was ravenous. Just one taste.
Reason caught up before he stepped again. The twinkle in her eyes as she rested a hand on her hip alerted him to the fact that she was about to score a point in their war. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
With a deep, ragged breath, he glared at her. And then he realized…
“That’s my shirt.”
She looked down as if noticing for the first time.
“It’s my favorite.”
“It was my favorite, too. I looked for that thing for months!”
When had she stepped so close? If he reached out, he could touch her. His fingers begged to trace the line of her breasts as they beckoned him. If he reached out, he could grab her hip and pull her to him. His palms could run over her smooth skin. She could wrap her legs around his waist and…
“I can’t believe you stole my shirt. You knew it was my favorite.”
She shrugged, not looking apologetic at all. “Want it back?”
Before he could stop her, she lifted it. Slowly. Seductively. Giving him a chance to stop her as she gave him an alluring glimpse of her satin skin, her flirty belly button, her slight rib cage.
And then she whipped the damn thing over her head and handed it to him.
He watched the skin around her nipples tighten and goosebumps erupt over her chest.
Fuck this shit.
In a blink, his lips crushed hers and his overheated body shared warmth with her bare skin. Her arms tightened around his neck, urging him on. His tongue forced its way past her lips, but was quickly welcomed into her moist heat. The music playing softly in the background, combined with a combination of scents—his favorite foods along with the familiar scent that was Kenzie all the way—transported him back in time to days when things were simple.
When there was only Kenzie. And no broken hearts or betrayals.
His hands went from cupping her face to slipping down her back. Her skin burned his palms as he ventured over her hip. His fingers slipped into the thin strap she wore—the only clothing that remained on her hot, hot body.
Their tongues battled as her body curved into his. He could snap this little bit of material off in one second, and he could be deep inside her in two.
Her fingers played with his hair and she made the cute little mewling sound that he had always found so endearing.
But that was then.
When she was trustworthy.
With self-control worthy of a fucking medal, he jerked away, turning away from her so he could regain his composure.
He had almost lost it. The battle. The willpower. Everything he had worked to overcome.
He heard her gasp, but he refused to turn back to see her.
He couldn’t trust himself to look at her and not finish what they had started. What he had once thought would never be finished.
Noticing the t-shirt on the floor near his feet, he kicked it back toward her.
“You can keep it.” And then he stormed out of his house, leaving the meal and the woman and all the comforts of home far behind.