And here I was, hating on some woman at the grocery store.
I tried to shake it off.
The funny thing was, Heath did nothing on his end to provoke my jealousy.
His arms were folded across his chest in a standoffish manner. His feet were planted far apart, and the closer forward she would edge, speaking to him now, the more he’d turn his body away from her.
He was not encouraging the woman.
He was not flirtatious. Just the opposite. Like at the gym, he was hostile to the woman for so much as speaking to him. Brutally so.
But I remembered clearly how fast, how aggressively, he’d gotten me into bed.
And he hadn’t had to flirt to do it.
On the other hand, though, he had definitely been the one to approach me, so there was that.
He turned and said something to her briefly, then faced forward again. The girl looked properly put in her place.
I didn’t have to hear a word to know what had happened.
She came knocking, and he slammed the door shut in her face.
I fucking loved it.
Biting back a smile, I continued my shopping.
It made me feel all warm and fuzzy as I realized that I’d never seen him show even a remote interest in another woman within my presence.
He made me feel good about myself, and the feeling seemed to be very mutual.
I approached him with a full cart when he was nearly to the front of the line.
I was just in time, it seemed.
The girl was still talking to him, still trying. She must have been one of those pretty girls who’d never been told no before and didn’t know how to take it gracefully.
Heath pointed his chin at me as I moved closer. “That’s a good question,” he was saying, his biting voice intimating clearly that it was not a good question. “Why don’t you ask my wife?”
My eyes went wide, mouth drawing open into a surprised O.
“Your . . .” the girl’s voice trailed off as she got a look at me.
“Ask me what?” I spoke to him, playing along, because I thought it was adorable and kind of fascinating that he’d gone with wife instead of girlfriend in order to get this random girl off his back.
“What do I like to do for fun, honey?” he asked me, deadpan.
I bit my lip to keep in a laugh. The wicked part of me wanted to say Me. He likes to do me for fun.
Instead I said, “He loves movies. Romantic comedies are his favorite.”
The silly girl didn’t say another word.
And Heath gave me a smile that was downright fond for that.
“Waiting forty minutes for some meat,” he muttered to me as I moved to stand next to him. “Never seen anything like it.”
I grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Saturdays at this place are a bitch.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. This whole plan was hatched by Rafael and me. I’m the one that volunteered us to cook tonight.”
Well.
That was something. Nothing he did or said was ever what I expected. I was constantly caught off-guard, mostly in a good way, and I wondered if this man would ever stop surprising me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
By the time we finished shopping, Heath was fairly twitching with impatience. Standing around or even moving leisurely made him very antsy.
As soon as we got into my car, I saw at least part of the reason for it.
He was all over me in a flash, mouth on mine, one hand diving into the bottom of my dress, the other into the top.
In the store, he hadn’t so much as touched me, and I hadn’t minded or been surprised. He didn’t strike me as the type who liked PDA.
But here, with the most superficial veneer of privacy around us, he didn’t, or couldn’t, hide his ravenous hunger.
“We’re just a few minutes from my house,” I gasped into his mouth.
He groaned and wrenched himself away. With impatient movements, he put the car in gear and started to drive.
He seemed to have himself in hand by the time we made it to the house.
It took two trips between the both of us to get all of the groceries into the kitchen.
I was unloading the first bag when he pressed in behind me, mouth going to my neck, his big hands palming my breasts.
I leaned back against him, my eyes rolling up in pleasure.
“I have a lot of prep to do before dinner,” I told him, trying (and failing) to use a firm tone.
“At some point today,” he breathed into my ear, “I’m going to snap and take you. I can’t spend this many hours with you in a row and not have you. That’s a fact. You want it to be now or right around the time your sons show up to have dinner with us?”
He made a very good point. A very good, panty dropping point.
“Better we do this now than later,” he continued. “Trust me on this.”
My hands covered his, just one of many signs of my acquiescence.
I didn’t let him take me in the kitchen, but it was a close thing.
We made it to the bedroom, but only just. The bed was far too ambitious. We ended up on the floor, on hands and knees with mad abandon, a few feet shy of our goal.
He gripped handfuls of my hair and rode me, hard and fast.
We were showered and re-dressed, a good hour later, before we got to the task of tackling dinner.
I could cook to impress. It was a fact that I took pride in. My gourmet chef father had taught me from the time I was a small child. But I didn’t want to overdo it for this meal.