Page 89 of Proposal Play

It’s like he can read my mind.

Maeve: Without you? Are you sure you want me taking over everything? Because I probably will. It’s the inevitability of me.

Asher: My house is your house.

Yeah, except his house is about twenty times larger than mine.

Maeve: You’ve been warned.

Asher: It’ll be more believable. It’ll smell like you then.

Maeve: You like the smell of paint and struggling artist?

Asher: Yes, but mostly you smell like plums, sunsets, or wildflowers.

My breath hitches as I stand in the now-quiet kitchen. He’s so casual about it, but something about the way he’s cataloged my body sprays makes me shiver. I bite my lip, then reply.

Maeve: All three? At once?

Asher: No. It depends on the day. Keeps me on my toes. And yes, you can and should sleep in my bed. It’s fucking otherworldly comfortable.

Talk about intimate. Talk about an invitation. I’m not sure I can resist RSVPing.

I grab my canvas bag and head upstairs, down the hallway to the main bedroom where I push open the door. The room is vast, with a huge king-size bed. Like it’s enchanting me, I walk over to it, then drop my bag on the floor. I run a hand along the soft dove-gray duvet, then picture Asher in it. Taking up all the space with his big, strong frame, rippling muscles, tousled hair, and bossy, commanding charm. What does he look like when he goes to bed? When he wakes up? In the middle of the night when he dreams? I reach into my bag and set down a couple paperbacks on the nightstand. A new book I checked out from Josie’s library since I needed a tearjerker. And then my familiar copy ofIf Found, Please Return.With my phone still in hand, the thoughts of Asher weave around me as I wander to the palatial bathroom with a shower that’s begging for me to try it. My phone buzzes.

Asher: And use the rainfall shower. You’ll love it.

I’m convinced now he can read my mind. Or maybe he’s spying.

Maeve: Are you watching me? Do you have cameras? That’s where I am. Checking out this bathroom I could live in.

Asher: Shame, but no. I don’t.

I shiver again from the innuendo. But does he really want to watch me? I think of Vegas, his hands on me, his mouth latched onto mine, his words in my ear.

Maybe he does.

I swallow roughly, past the wild uncertainty of this situation. I turn around and glance at the framed picture of us I’d placed on his nightstand earlier, then drop the phone on the counter.

As I strip off my clothes, I leave a trail on the bathroom floor, my skin already buzzing from the thought of him. The air feels heavier than usual as I step into the rainfall shower, letting the heat and steam wrap around me. I reach for his body wash, twist the cap open, and the scent of him hits me instantly—clean and fresh with that hint of oak. It floods my senses, and suddenly, it’s like he’s here, standing just behind me. His hands skimming my warm, wet skin. His mouth caressing my neck. His arms roping around me, nice and tight. Most of all, his mouth telling me to sink down to my knees.

My pulse rockets, and I ache everywhere.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to shake away the thought of me on my knees, my hands on his hips, my lips parted, but it clings to me like the steam. It’s getting harder to deny this attraction, especially here in the heat of the shower where I want to give in.

Even though it’s a very bad idea. Because giving incould ruin this beautiful friendship that we both desperately need.

When I’m out, I wrap myself in a big, fluffy towel and twist another over my hair. I text him, though that’s probably a bad idea too.

Maeve: I showered. Because you told me to.

Asher: Good. I like it when you do what I say.

I pause, staring at the heady words. It was one thing to pretend we were married while living apart. It’ll be entirely another thing while we live together, even for a few days.

31

A HOUSEWARMING GIFT