What’s New Pussycat(76)
“No thanks necessary.”
“So now what, Farm Boy? Where do we go from here?”
“We keep doing what we were doing this week and we never stop doing it. There are a million more things I want to know about you, Martine. I say we just keep right on discovering until we’re old and gray. You in?” He held up a fist for her to bump.
Martine’s heart clenched, and her throat tightened when she knocked fists with him. “I’m in. All in.”
Always.
“Then it’s a deal. Now, since we’ve successfully kept me from death, I say we eat in celebration. I’m starving,” he moaned as he slipped from the bed and held out his hand.
“But we just ate dinner,” she teased.
Derrick wiggled his eyebrows. “Yep, and then I worked up an appetite again. Plus, wine. Need I say more?”
“I think I like the way you think, Adams.”
Pulling her up into his arms, he grinned that delicious grin. “I like you, Pussycat.”
She liked him, too. So, so much.
Hand in hand they headed to the kitchen, their soft footsteps moving in time.
Derrick headed toward the fridge, while Martine went straight to the pantry, loving how in sync they were when they cooked together. She grabbed some onions and potatoes while he pulled out eggs from the fridge.
A knock at the door made them both freeze and eye each other over the kitchen island. “It’s probably someone from my nosy family, checking to see if I survived the mate.” Waving a finger at her, he said, “You might not be thanking me for them in the not-so-near future.”
She giggled, pulling her jeans and sweater on while Derrick drew his jeans over his muscled thighs.
Martine grabbed the handle and pulled the door open to find not one of Derrick’s family members, but instead an incredibly handsome older man with hair as dark as Derrick’s, graying at the temples.
He cleared his throat, his eyes tired and his face worn under the bright orb of the full moon. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude, but is Derrick here?”
Derrick was behind her instantly, the huff of his breath echoing in her ears, his fingers wrapping possessively around her waist.
Martine craned her neck to look back at him, finding Derrick’s eyes were no longer warm and gentle, but hard, icy chips of blue. “Well, look who decided to finally come home. What the hell are you doing here?”
She frowned, confused, feeling the instant tension in his big body. “Derrick? Who is this?”
The man extended his wide hand, browned from the sun, his eyes shadowed and sad. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me not to introduce myself. I’m Brock Adams. Derrick’s father…”
The End