Page 57 of Face Off With Fate

I knew that, but I’d been antsy from the moment he’d left to pick Itzel up. In fact, I’d been so full of pent-up energy, I let Goldie pretend I was a unicorn for close to an hour after our cookie project.

“Where’s Golds?” he asked, before calling out, “Gol⁠—”

“Shh,” I leaped across the kitchen, colliding with his chest—his warm, hard, delicious chest—nearly forgetting why I’d launched myself at him. “What is wrong with you? She’s sleeping, tonto.”

Monroe’s surprise morphed to confusion. Calloused fingers circled my wrist and pulled my hand away, but he didn’t drop his hold—or step back. “She actually went down for you?”

Something soft was in his tone, and it had my stomach flip-flopping.

“Yeah…you said her bedtime was eight, remember? It was part of the dissertation you gave on watching her?” I flicked a brow up. “And yes, we brushed her teeth, washed her face, put lotion on her legs, put pajamas on, and, after a fifth of tequila, she went down. No problem.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, his breath carrying a hint of whiskey. “Is she really asleep, or are you messing with me?”

“Yes, she’s really asleep.” Tingles started at my fingertips. “Is this what you do with all your babysitters to get them to tell you what you want to know? Hold their arm above their head so they lose circulation?”

He looked over at my hand, as if he’d completely forgotten he was holding it. “Sorry.” He lowered it, fingers lingering for a few beats. Long enough he probably felt my pulse pounding under his thumb.

I cleared my throat, taking several steps back so he could actually come inside. Monroe hung his keys and kicked off his shoes.

“So,” I crossed my arms. “How did it go?”

“Fine.”

Fine? I wanted to shake him.

He fumbled with the buttons on his cuff.

I knocked his hands away. The small pearlescent button was smooth against my shaking fingers. “Let me. Your thick fingers aren’t good for this.”

“Yeah? What are they good for?” he rasped in my ear. The rough growl shot straight between my thighs.

We were wading into murky waters, toeing the line.

“It went fine? That’s all you’re going to give me?” I asked, changing the subject.

He held out his other arm and shrugged. His shirt pulled at the waist, taunting me with a flash of skin. “I don’t know what more you want me to say.”

“More than one word would be nice.”

I should step away. Make my way to the front door. I didn’t.

I might not have dived headfirst into whatever was happening, but I was doing a shit job of retreating.

“I didn’t know I’d have to give a debrief after every date.”

“That’s exactly what you’ll have to do, Monroe. How am I supposed to plan and adjust our strategy if you don’t tell me what’s going on?”

“Guess you’ll have to come on ’em from now on,” he said nonchalantly, pulling the rest of his shirt out of his dress pants.

“What are you doing?” I locked my hands at my sides, fingers itching to trace the ridges of his abdomen and the dusting of hair trailing from his navel to his cock. At least that was the picture my mind conjured up.

“Untucking my shirt, Graciella.” The words were rough. “I’m tired and want to change out of the dress clothes you made me wear. Now…” He undid a button, followed by another, and my eyes tracked his movements. “Unless you want to stay and watch me undress, I think we’re all good here. Don’t you?”

His eyes were dark in the dim light, steady and unblinking as he watched me.

“Yeah…” I managed to rasp, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth.

Those deft fingers paused at the fourth button. “‘Yeah’ to which part, Trouble? You going to stay and watch me undress?”