Resisting the Bad Boy - Nice Girl to Love, Vol 1 (Can't Resist #1)(20)

He paused, wondering where she was going with this.

She pointed to the trash can. “There’s the basket. My new panties can be the ball…since yours are clearly in a twist.”

Incredulous, he dialed up the tickle torture to merciless.

Her squealing ‘I-take-it-backs’ hit an ultrasonic range as she wriggled and squirmed and bucked until soon, he was fairly certain his suffering was eclipsing hers.

Letting go of her wrists, he rolled onto his back beside her, out of sorts and grumbling, “You’re planning to drive me completely crazy these next few weeks, aren’t you?”

Limbs all akimbo, body dangling half off the bed, and clothing askew, she lifted her head weakly to heave between breaths, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

With a groaning chuckle, he dragged her up to steal a long, hard kiss while she was too tickle-drunk to object. And the smile he couldn’t seem to contain around her snuck up on him once again. Mostly because she’d sobered up enough to call out, “Foul…and a really mean one at that.”

For the first time in his life, two weeks of imposed abstinence didn’t seem all that bad.





CHAPTER FIVE



IT WAS WORSE THAN BAD. It was impossible. Six days of pure, unmitigated, using-up-all-the-cold-water agony. And there were still eight days ahead to face.

Survival was looking highly unlikely.

He had to admit though that the last six days had been pretty great in their own right. Fun. Given the constraints of her busy writing schedule, Connor made sure to limit himself to only one short, concentrated flirt session with Abby a day, either by phone or a flurry of text message bantering. And every night, she’d greet him at home with a smile…and depending on how steamy their flirting had been that day, a damn cute blush, too.

After seeing her warming his home the first night, he’d found it impossible to stay away each following night as well. Sure, he still had his occasional evening meetings and late office work but he always made sure to be ‘home by dinner.’

What a concept.

Growing up, his father had never felt a need to do it more than once, maybe twice a week. Even though he’d had a wife and two sons to come home to. As a kid, Connor had missed him, from middle school on, not so much. Now as an adult with someone to actually come home to for once—regardless how temporary it was—he felt renewed disappointment in his father. Again. Or rather, still.

“I cooked us up some Greek food tonight,” called out a cheerful voice from the kitchen, breaking into his thoughts. Brightening at the sound of her voice, he headed on over to where all the sumptuous smells were originating.

The sight of Abby bent over pulling out something from the oven was probably the best thing he’d set his eyes on all day. But then she plopped the baking tin on the stove and gifted him with one of those resplendent, room-lighting smiles of hers and he immediately amended his previous thought—that was the greatest thing he’d seen all day.

Yeah, it took a real bastard not to want to come home to this every night.

“Hi honey, I’m home.” He just wanted to try it on for size. Strangely, it felt good. Like a vintage suit tailored just for him. Tomorrow, maybe he’d even go pre-technicolor and trip over an ottoman. Milk the novelty of this all while it lasted.

“Everything looks great.” He kissed her cheek—the only body part she was letting him kiss. For now. “But you should’ve told me you were making such specific dishes; I didn’t have half these ingredients. I would’ve ordered the groceries you needed online and had them delivered.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been paying for groceries more than I have as it is, which makes zero sense,” she retorted. “Plus, this whole traveling around the world by food adventure is my thing. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.”

“I’m eating it,” he argued back.

“Just like I’ve eaten on the nights you’ve cooked.” She gave him a look that said, ‘so there.’

See now if the lawyers he faced in court looked half that cute during their rebuttals, he was sure he’d lose a whole lot more. Grinning, he conceded, “Okay then. Since tomorrow’s my turn to cook, what say I jump on this tour of yours and whip up something really exotic. Like mac & cheese with weenies.”

Abby giggled. “What is it with you and all this comfort Americana dishes? Looking at you, I’d never picture it. Were you one of those that cooked with your mom growing up?”

He snorted. “Hardly. We had a cook, which freed up mother to drink her dinners more often than not.”

“Oh.” A regretful frown dimmed her face. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey.” He tipped her chin up. “No feeling bad over the poor little rich kid with the present-but-still-absent parents. Did I mention I had my own pony growing up? Well, it was on lease at the polo club but still, how many kids can say that?”

The stubborn glaze of tears in her eyes unnerved him.

No one ever cried for him. Because of him, yes—more than he cared to admit—but never for him.

He bent down and fit his mouth to hers, telling himself it was just a comfort kiss. To take away some of her sadness. Inside, he knew he was really just capturing the memory for himself so he could open it like a Christmas gift one day when she was long gone. God, when was the last time he’d actually gotten a gift? Wrapped personally just for him?