His face took on a falsely grave expression. "Very much."
His dirty jokes were doing a pretty good job of burying the onslaught of tears that were threatening to crawl up my throat. "I think we've established that I'm not overly skilled at that hobby."
"Practice makes perfect," he said seriously. I warbled out a laugh, and he added, "And for what it's worth, if you were anybetter at it, I might not have survived. You almost gave me a heart attack that night."
I rolled my eyes. "Let's not go too far to bring my ego back from the brink."
Spencer's gaze softened, and he considered me with a flickering heat in his dark eyes. "When you're better, I'll prove it to you."
Suddenly, the way my body was pressed up against Spencer's took up every brain cell in my cranium. The way his legs straddled mine, the way his arms pressed me firmly against his sculpted abs, and the way his even breathing seemed to fill my whole being with warmth—it consumed me. I swallowed thickly. "How so?"
Spencer leaned down, pressing his scratchy jaw against my soft skin. Lowering his voice to a husky whisper that tickled down my nerve endings and landed somewhere between my legs, he said, "Run again. And next time, I won't release you until you're wet and begging."
My heart gave an excited squeeze, and my pussy—ultimate wingman and traitor—tingled with anticipation. When Spencer pulled away again, I read the promise in his eyes clear as day. He wanted me. Against all the odds, against my termagant personality and underwhelming appearance, he wanted me. He wanted to chase me, and I wanted him to catch me.
Only, there would be none of that. The only thing my mother would love more than Spencer being here was finding out that we were actuallyinvolved.It couldn't happen. I could not be that weak for dick that I gave in to fucking my husband. My throat clicked as I swallowed, and slowly, I pushed myself up. Spencer held my gaze, but he didn't stop me as I sat up, straddled his stomach, and planted my hands on his hard chest. No, that was a bad idea. Shit.
I tried to even out my flustered features and change the subject. "Even if I did want you to…chase me—"
"You do," he interjected arrogantly.
"—I think you owe me a few answers first," I finished with a reproving scowl. "You've been in my house for a week, and while I'm grateful—"
"Not that grateful if you keep running outside," he interjected again.
My scowl intensified. "Stop deflecting. I’m grateful, but where have you been all week? How long are you staying?"
His chest rose and fell again, and it took me with him, hilariously. I wasn't sitting anywhere dangerous—his hard abs were perfectly acceptable to sit on, right?—but straddling him was doing funny things to my lower belly. Spencer shifted, resting his hands on my hips and keeping me firmly against his stomach as he settled against the pillows on the couch. He looked perfectly content to have me sitting on top of him, and if I was honest, I was starting to really like it.
He considered me for a beat before saying, "Alright. I didn't want to tell you because inviting your wrath upon my head seems dangerous for my health."
"You do know me well."
"But I guess I should level with you." His thumbs traced idle circles against my hips that I felt even through my thick jeans. "I may have moved here." He paused, gauging my reaction. "Permanently."
I grappled to understand, because whatever I had thought he was going to say, it hadn't been that. "Define 'permanently.'"
"I'm no Webster, but I'll go with, 'Has opened a practice in Park City, and a lot of down payments were made, and really doesn’t see how he could extricate himself from the entire situation without an enormous financial burden on himself and others.'" He took another breath, still watching me closely forwhatever explosive reaction he thought was forthcoming. "That kind of permanent."
My mouth hinged open. "Why?"
"It's kind of hard to explain," he replied, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "I'm not sure I understand it fully, myself. For one thing, your mother was getting a little… pushy. She wanted us tolookmarried, apparently."
I hadn't even considered that possibility. "That sounds like her. I'm sorry. I think I put her out of my mind on purpose, and when she didn't bother me, I didn't think about her going after you."
He shrugged that off. "I can handle Sylvia. But that put the idea in my head—the location, anyway—and I've been thinking about making a change for a while."
Spencer was an incredibly gifted neonatologist with degrees, training, and awards that could probably wallpaper his entire office. To hear that he had been considering "a change" was unexpected, to say the least. "I can imagine that there's a lot of pressure as a neonatologist," I offered.
His gaze remained steady and calm. "It was impossible, some days."
Something sharp lodged itself in my throat, and I nodded once. "I can see that."
"They piled up over time, I think. All the ones I couldn't save and the pressure from terrified new mothers and grieving families. I'm not saying I'm giving it up," he rushed to add. "But I've had a thought percolating for some time—a post-NICU pediatric care practice."
"That sounds brilliant," I said honestly. "Those must be rare."
"I was inspired by the Cleveland post-NICU program, but I was hoping to make it less… hospital-y." His thumbs were still tracing patterns over my hips, and it took a monumental efforton my part not to home in on that sensation and lose all coherency. No relations. Husband is off-limits.
