Rock Wedding(44)

“Alone,” Abe said before she could finish, his voice firm. “Sleeping alone.” He held up his abused hands. “Crashed after playing.”

“Oh.” She fiddled with the strap of her simple black purse. “Um, clothes?”

Her husband—ex-husband—looked down at himself as if he’d forgotten he was only covered by a teeny, tiny yellow towel that showed off far too much of his powerful thighs and seemed in danger of slipping off at any second. That buttery yellow shade should’ve made him look less masculine, but it did the opposite.

It threw his maleness into stark focus.

“Right.” Abe’s eyes lifted to connect with hers… and a slow smile crept over his face.

If he said anything teasing at that moment, she’d throw her purse at his head. Sarah swore it. Today was not the day for Abe to be all teasing and sexy and making her crazy. “Clothes,” she repeated in a tone that brooked no argument, and pointed in the direction of his bedroom.

He chuckled and began to turn that way. “Back in a minute. You want to make yourself some coffee?” he asked over his shoulder. “I got a new machine Fox recommended.”

Sarah went to say no, then decided she might as well find something to do with herself or she’d go mad while waiting for him. “I’ll make you one too.” She headed to the kitchen before she could give in to the urge to watch him walk way, his muscular buttocks moving against that flimsy excuse for a towel. “That’s what got you into this mess,” she muttered to herself as she reached the kitchen.

It was all black marble counters and white cabinetry, the appliances steel and the windows generous. A room full of light that she’d once made even more vibrant with fresh flowers, it had always been her favorite place in the house. She had so many great memories of this room—including a treasured one with Abe. He’d been mostly naked that time too, having just come out of the pool wearing only snug, dark blue shorts.

She’d been putting together a pasta salad for their lunch, and he’d wrapped his wet body around hers from behind, making her squeal. But she’d liked it, loved that he’d cuddled her, kissed her neck, maneuvered her unprotesting body to a wall before lifting her up so he could take her against that wall. She’d expected a hard, fast quickie, but he’d kissed her so much that day, his hands petting her body, and his cock in no rush inside her.

Her lower body clenched.

Slapping at her cheeks hard enough that it stung, Sarah told herself to snap out of it, to remember that, most of the time, she’d been alone and miserable in this room and in this house. She’d eaten more meals by herself at the freestanding counter than she ever had with Abe.

Turning to the coffeemaker on that sobering thought, she saw it was an easy one to operate, using the prepackaged little pods. She found those pods in the cabinet directly above the coffeemaker.

Abe reaching over her head to grab something for her. “Here you go, Shortness.”

Fighting the assault of memory, of the only time in her life when she had actually felt short, she grabbed the pods and shut the cabinet door. Then she concentrated on choosing what kind of a coffee to make for herself, and, after that, on how to work the machine perfectly.

Having already brewed a half-strength cappuccino for herself, she’d just finished making an espresso for Abe when he walked in. From the fresh soap scent of him, he’d had a quick shower before he changed into crisp blue jeans and a black T-shirt with a V-neck. The tee pulled across his chest, hugged his biceps.

And her stomach, it wanted to flip again.

“Thanks.” He picked up the espresso and threw it down his throat like the liquid wasn’t even hot.

He’d always done that—and she’d always winced, just like now.

Looking away, she took more careful sips of her coffee while nerves began to twist and knot in her gut. “You want another one?” Abe had always loved espresso.

“I can do it.” He moved to the machine, got it started before turning to her. “You look good in that dress.”

Sarah could feel color rising to her cheeks, hoped her skin tone hid it. “Um, thanks.” She’d learned how to dress herself as a businesswoman by looking up articles online. Before that, she’d been all short, ass-hugging skirts and glittery tops, the perfect rock-star groupie. Not that there was anything wrong with that look—Sarah still liked to pull out her glittery tops now and then—but it had never quite been her.

“I guess I finally found my style,” she added when Abe didn’t say anything further, his eyes lingering on her curves with open appreciation.