But when he brought the wine and Chinese takeout, I'd been shocked to find my pride still dormant. It all seemed so...natural. This was just the next step, something that came as easily as exhale followed inhale.
Usually Grey showed himself out as soon as Maple's bedtime rolled around—or I kicked him out. But late night, while Maple slept, we'd lingered together. Less than an hour on my ratty sofa. No big deal, I'd convinced myself. After almost a month of visits, Greyson was something like a friend, and friends shared a glass of wine all the time. Right? And I hadn't exactly been nice to him up until that point. I'd figured I should stop freezing him out and try to meet him halfway.
And then...
I had no idea what the hell had happened. One moment, we'd been sitting at a polite distance, and then we were kissing. And it happened again at the door—so much more than a chaste goodbye kiss. Just the memory made heat flutter between my thighs. His erection had ground into me and I had responded so shamelessly, rubbing against him. I hadn't felt like that in years. Like a real live woman. Like when I danced on stage, flying free, music flowing vibrant through my veins—only so much better. I'd almost forgotten that my body could bring me such pleasure.
But dammit, why did it have to be with him? How could I let myself do that? All the guilt and confusion I'd felt about Grey playing father to Maple...now it was a hundred times worse. I was cheating on Marcus's memory.
Now that he'd touched me, though, I couldn't stand the idea of never feeling him again. Our little makeout session had been more than hot—it had felt right. I couldn't deny that Grey woke me up in ways that I'd thought were long dead. Buried right along with Marcus. Even now, I wanted him.
So what the hell was I going to do? Could I bring myself to nip this in the bud? Or...
I tried to clear my head and focus on the pedicure. It almost worked.
* * *
When I returned, the table was full – a steaming plate of hot dogs, a bowl of baked beans, and a salad for two. Grey was in the process of wrangling Maple into her high chair. Her pink princess plate was already on the tray and loaded with a cut-up hot dog and a dollop of beans.
“You made this?” I asked as I took off my shoes.
His mouth quirked. “What, you think a grown man can't cook hot dogs?”
“No, it's just...” Grey had always brought some kind of takeout. Him buying groceries and cooking us a meal, even a simple one, felt so much more fatherly. Homey. Like he was a real part of our small, strange family. I shook my head. “Never mind. Thanks for dinner.”
Maple got almost as much food in her mouth as on her face, which I hailed as a success. After we were done eating, I gave Maple her bath, dressed her in her favorite lamb jammies, and tucked her into bed with her stuffed owl. I came out of her nursery to find all the dishes washed and Greyson sitting on the couch...with two glasses of Merlot on the coffee table.
Was he hoping for this to become a new routine? I should have just kicked him out like usual. If I'd been quicker on the draw. If I hadn't been so grateful for the unexpected holiday. If he weren't so goddamn handsome. If last night's kisses hadn't seared right through me.
Instead, I sat down next to him and took a sip of wine. Who knows? Maybe my body understood what was right for me, even if I hadn't realized it yet.
“So how was Hickory Lake?” I asked.
He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It was fun. I taught her to cast, and she sat right next to me and pretended to fish. We were there until about noon.”
“She actually sat still for that long? No way.” I enjoyed the mental image of them perched side-by-side on the shore, like a pair of old men.
“Of course not. She was very busy...wanted to look at all the frogs and weeds and everybody else's catches. I hardly had a moment to catch anything myself.”
I smiled, a tender warmth welling up inside me. Fishing wasn't really my thing, but Grey painted such an idyllic picture that I almost wished I'd come along with them.
As if Grey had read my mind, he looked straight into my eyes. “I've never seen you smile like that,” he murmured.
My mind went blank. The moment held its breath as I tried to come up with a reply. But I couldn't think with Grey's gaze on me. Just sitting next to this man made me feel loose and floaty, like I was drunk after barely half a glass. But I knew it wasn't the wine that had done this to me. I had tasted Grey last night—and I wanted more.
Was it him or me who edged closer? Who had made the first move? Everything was such a blur. Without my realizing it, we had been poised like magnets on a table, just distant enough to stay apart. At the slightest nudge—his hand brushing mine, my tongue poking out to wet my lips—we flew to slam together.
Our mouths devoured each other. His arms enveloped me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other tight around my waist, already pushing up my shirt. Need flared down my spine. I wanted Grey to rip my clothes off and fuck me hard, right there on the sofa. My desire ached so intensely it almost scared me. I clutched at him, feeling his strong muscles, the amazing body that was so close to giving me what I craved. My eyes fluttered with anticipation...
And I glimpsed the photo of Marcus, so handsome in his SEAL dress blues, that hung on the living room wall. Watching everything.
My late husband's disappointed stare washed ice straight down my veins, cooling any heat I felt. I shoved Grey away, panicked, disgusted with myself, hot shame burning through me.