She shook her head and didn’t answer, but her cheeks pinked up a bit. “So how did you get even with Adele?”
“I didn’t.” I shrugged. “I was proud of her, actually.”
We talked for two more hours. About nothing. About everything. I could have sat there for days. When Aubrey’s phone buzzed on the table, both our eyes caught the name flashing before our gazes locked. Richard. Dick.
“I should go. I can’t believe we’ve been sitting here for close to two and a half hours. I didn’t even tell my office I was going to be late.” She stood, and I joined her. “What are your plans for today?”
“Go walk some mutts, weed a flower bed for my lawyer. The usual.”
She dug into her pocketbook and pulled out a set of keys. Slipping one off her key ring, she offered it to me. “Here. In case you need to use the bathroom or anything while you’re working.”
It meant so much more than just a place to relieve myself. I took the key from her hand, then linked my fingers with hers. “Thank you.”
I took a step closer. Fuck, she smelled good. “Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia,” I mumbled. Pavlov himself would have drooled at how the smell had conditioned me. It brought me back to the first night in our hotel rooms. The smell permeated her bathroom, and those black lacy underwear were on the counter. Shit. Taking care of myself did nothing to quench the thirst I had around her. My pants were growing snug.
“You remembered the name of my perfume.”
I couldn’t help myself this time. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled her against me tightly for a hug. “I remember everything about you,” I whispered in her ear.
She was flush when we separated, but her face grew crimson when she looked down to escape my stare and caught sight of the obvious bulge in my jeans.
“It’s been more than two years,” I offered quietly as an explanation.
“You haven’t—”
“Been inside a woman in two years.” Then I thought better of my phrasing. “I haven’t touched another women since I met you. And I don’t plan on it.”
I watched her throat swallow before she spoke. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“When will I see you again, Princess?”
“I have to go out of town tomorrow morning. I’ll probably be getting on the road early and back late. I’ll text you the day after tomorrow, maybe.”
I hated that answer. But I took it. “Have a safe trip.”
I walked some dogs, went to the gym and decided to skip Aubrey’s for today. After my time with her this morning, I didn’t want to screw things up by being inside stalking when she arrived back home. And there was no doubt once I walked inside her house, I’d be doing a full investigation. So instead, I showered and headed for some quality time with my favorite bartender. The place was always empty at this time.
“You look particularly gorgeous today, Carla Babes.” She had on a red shirt with large white polka dots that was tied just under her ample tits, revealing a shitload of smooth skin. Her pinup girl style hair was done up with a red scarf.
She poured me a drink. “You’re in a good mood today. Finally grow some balls and go after that woman?”
“I’m working on it.”
“You’ve been working on it for two weeks now.”
“It’s a marathon, not a sprint.” I sucked back a mouthful of my drink.
“What are you, the Dalai Lama?”
“I’m starting to feel like a Buddhist Monk. They don’t get laid either, do they?”
“Let me ask you something. Why don’t you go to a bar and pick up a willing woman and get the dirty deed over with? It’s been a long time. Just have sex. Sweaty, body slapping, meaningless, dirty sex. It might make you feel better.”
Honestly, I’d noticed a few women lately. I’d have to be dead not to. Yet my body didn’t have the desire to be with anyone else. “I would feel like I was cheating.”
“Even though she’s screwing someone else?”
That fucking hurt. “Thanks, Carla.”
“Sorry.” She grinned. “But let me know if you change your mind.”
I looked down at the ring on my finger. They may have been vows spoken in front of Elvis with a buzz on, but I was committed all the same. It made me wonder if she remembered our vows, now that I was back in her life again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They say that the rate of recidivism for criminals is upwards of fifty percent. I was becoming a damn statistic. Even though I had a key and wasn’t technically a criminal, my little snooping gauntlet had me feeling like the felon that I was.