Chapter 48

The golden light of the late afternoon faded into a warm, dusky glow as Monique and I settled onto the patio, glasses of wine in hand. The air was cooler now, carrying the scent of summer flowers and the distant, rhythmic chirping of cicadas.

“There is a new pizzeria in town, I saw it when I went to the spa the other day. How about we order a pizza for dinner?”

I quickly agreed, quite comfortable to spend the afternoon enjoying the time together.

After calling in our order, Monique curled her legs beneath her on the lounge chair, and sipped her wine, just as content as I. The burgundy sweater she wore draped off one shoulder, exposing just enough skin to keep my mind wandering. The tight black leggings left little to the imagination, hugging her body in ways that had already driven me to distraction all afternoon.

She noticed me staring and smirked over the rim of her glass. “You’ve been looking at me like that a lot today, John.”

I took a slow sip of my wine, unbothered by being caught. “And?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Just saying ... I might start to think you’re obsessed.”

I leaned forward, setting my glass down on the small table between us. “That would require me to stop thinking about you long enough for it to just be an obsession,” I teased, my voice low.

Her smirk deepened, and she ran a finger along the rim of her glass, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Good answer.”

We sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the sky darken. The pizzeria had texted Monique to confirm our order and estimated delivery time, so we had nothing to do but relax.

She stretched out, arching her back slightly, which only made my eyes drop to the curve of her breasts beneath the soft knit of her sweater. She caught my gaze and grinned. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when you do things like that.”

“Like what?” She tilted her head innocently.

I gave her a knowing look. “You know exactly what.”

She laughed and set her glass aside, standing up and walking toward me. When she reached my chair, she climbed onto my lap, straddling me, her hands sliding around the back of my neck.

Her weight against me, the warmth of her body, the teasing glint in her eyes—it was all too much.

She brushed her lips against mine, not quite kissing me. “Are you still hungry for pizza?”

I groaned. “Not anymore.”

She giggled, then finally kissed me, slow and deep. My hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. The way she moved against me—deliberate, knowing—was almost torturous.