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My heart did that wobbly thing in my chest. Like it no longer fit. I gave an awkward wave. “Hey, Evan, how are you?”

He gave me a thumbs-up, and I had no idea why I found that so cute.

Felt like he was trying to make things as simple for me as he could—because God knew I was the one who had no clue what the fuck he was doing—the same as when he waved his hand in the air, indicating for me to follow.

I glanced around, quick to take in their home.

The front door opened to a small foyer that faced an arch that led to the living space, which was lined by crown molding.

An overstuffed couch covered in pillows and throws took up most of the room, two armchairs situated on either side, and a plush area rug covering the dark hardwood floors. All three pieces of furniture were angled so each seat had a good view of the television.

But none of that was the focus. No, because it was abundantly clear where all Hope’s attention was aimed.

Pictures of Evan as far as the eye could see. Every surface and wall. A mismatch of frames and sizes.

Organized like art.

Like praise.

Evan darted down a short hall to the right, and I tore myself away from the scene in front of me and followed.

My stride easy until I damned near tripped over my feet when he led me through a smaller arch and into the kitchen.

Because Hope was bent over, wearing that same lust-inducing dress she’d had on earlier at the shop. She was digging into a bottom cupboard, her perfect, round ass swaying from side to side.

That ass I wanted to sink my teeth into.

Mouthwatering.

Every bit as much as whatever that insanely delicious smell was that filled the air.

Hearty and thick and warm.

She jerked around when she heard us walk in behind her. Green eyes went wide in her own kind of shock, like even though she expected me, she was still unprepared.

And that unbridled connection I felt to her every time I was in her space . . .

It surged.

Free and fast.

Rushing across the floor before either of us had the chance to find our footing.

Invading and penetrating and capturing.

Attraction and need.

This insane desire that threatened to get the best of me.

But that wasn’t why I was here, so I tamped it down.

Clearing my throat, I pinned on an easy expression. That was the only way I was going to make it through this without having her on that counter, her legs around my waist, mouth devouring every inch of her.

“Hey, Shortcake.” I stretched out my arms, the sleeves of my button-up rolled up my forearms. “I’m here and at your disposal. Whatever fits your fancy. Don’t be shy. Use me up.”

For a few beats, she breathed deeply. Like she needed to find her axis the same way I just had to do.

Beating the attraction down.

Both of us coming to the same place. The reason I was there.

To give something back when these two so clearly gave and gave.

I watched as her shoulders relaxed and amusement fluttered across those plush, pink lips. “Watch yourself, Dr. Bryant. You call me Shortcake one more time, and I’ll have you out back mowing my lawn.”

“Is that a threat? Come on, tell me you can do better than that.”

She grabbed mitts and opened the top oven, because even though the girl’s house was modest, the kitchen was not.

Gourmet might have been an understatement.

She had one of those huge industrial refrigerators and a double oven to match. Everything white and country and oozing the same kind of charm that seeped from her pores.

She leaned over and pulled out a casserole dish.

Good God. I almost blacked out.

Lush red hair falling around one shoulder as she leaned down, back arching just a fraction, the profile of her face revealing that button nose and pouty lips and dimpled chin.

She glanced at me from over her shoulder. “Oh, Dr. Bryant, you are heading into dangerous territory . . .”

My eyes raked over her body. Didn’t I know it.

“I just might have a to-do list that is begging for attention. Considering I have no ‘Honey,’ it’s grown about fifteen miles long,” she teased, and I realized how much I liked it when she did.

When she felt comfortable enough to let go of a little of her worry when she was in my presence.

I flexed my arms. Satisfaction lined my insides when her attention went there, her breaths coming shorter and shorter. “Are you asking me to rescue you again, Shortcake? Bring it on, baby. Sir Bryant, remember? I’m obligated to do anything for my princess. And believe me, I won’t consider it a burden.”

Evan was suddenly right in my face, holding his pad up for me to see it, jarring me back into the reason I was there.


Tags: A.L. Jackson Fight for Me Romance