Say It Again (First Wives, #5)(66)

Silence stretched out between them.

“It’s okay, I’m being pushy—”

“Thunderstorms,” she rushed out. “I love thunderstorms. I’ve walked into the middle of a field, or the courtyard at Richter, in the middle of a thunderstorm just to be a part of it.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Part of the appeal. I’ve never feared lightning or the sounds of gunshots or the screech of tires on pavement.”

AJ reached for her, tugged a little when it became apparent she wasn’t used to being held. “This won’t hurt.”

She shifted into his shoulder without relaxing.

“I love the smell of snow,” he told her.

“You live in Florida.”

“Yeah. Much harder to get laid living in the mountains alone than in a condo on the beach.”

She chuckled, tucked in a little closer. “When was the last time you managed that?”

“Getting laid?”

“Yeah.”

“Last night,” he teased.

The comment was met with her elbow in his ribs. “Fine . . .” He thought back, answered honestly. “Three months ago. She was with her girlfriends for a beach vacation. What about you?”

Sasha ran her bare foot down his leg. “Rome, right before I went back to Germany.”

He shouldn’t feel jealous.

“Do you plan on seeing him again?” He regretted the question the moment it left his lips.

“That would require me knowing his name,” she told him.

He wanted to ask if she was kidding but knew she wasn’t.

“Does that bother you?” she asked.

“Should it?”

She unfolded from his embrace and swung a leg over his hips to straddle him. Looking down, it became apparent exactly where her thoughts were headed.

He lifted his hands, circled her waist.

His cock stirred.

“I know your name.”

AJ dug his fingers into her hips, pulled her close. “And I know yours.”



The Hofmann home sat in a Virginia suburb filled with pristine roads and manicured lawns. The houses were a mix of Georgian and Victorian, colonial, and somewhere in between. Sprawling landscapes with small clusters of dense trees framed the edges of properties.

The large brick home AJ pulled into wasn’t modest by any means, but it didn’t quite fit the description of a mansion or an estate like that of Trina and Wade.

Still, it wasn’t without its charm. “Impressive,” Sasha said, peering out the window.

“A regurgitated replication of every home my parents have ever lived in.”

“You never lived here?”

AJ turned off the engine. “No. They bought this after returning from Germany. Dad wanted to be close enough to DC so he could work during the week and come home on the weekends.”

Sounded like marriage trouble to Sasha’s ears. “Does Daddy have affairs?” she asked without thinking.

“No . . .” AJ paused. “Shit . . . I don’t know.”

Good, he was starting to think. “If you were happily married, would you want to stay away five nights a week?”

AJ looked through the windshield. “Next thing I know, you’re going to tell me there isn’t a Santa Claus.”

She grinned, grasped the handle of the car door. “Remember, keep it simple and as close to the truth as possible. If you get stuck, punt to me.”

“Got it . . . Jennifer.”

“Let’s do this,” she said, pushing out of the car.

They walked to the front door, hand in hand.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered right before he knocked on the door hard and followed it up with a ring of the doorbell.

They waited several seconds.

“Maybe we should have called,” he said before pushing the doorbell a second time.

She heard the sound of footsteps rushing down stairs and a woman’s voice saying she was coming.

The door swung open and AJ’s mother’s stunned expression turned quickly into a smile. “Oh, my . . . AJ, what are you doing here?” She opened her arms to him, glanced over his shoulder toward Sasha. “Did I know you were coming?”

AJ let go of Sasha’s hand and pulled his mother into a hug. “Hey, Mom. We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by.”

“In the neighborhood my rear end.” She hugged him tighter, kissed the side of his cheek.

He stepped away and turned to Sasha. “This is my girlfriend, Jennifer.”

Sasha stuck her hand out. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Hofmann.”

Mrs. Hofmann looked between the two of them, eyes wide open. “It’s Marjorie, please.” They shook hands. “Please, come in.”

AJ let Sasha walk in first, closed the door behind them. “Is Dad here?”

“No, he had an early tee time. If you’d called, we could have made sure he skipped his golf game.”

They walked through a well-appointed hall filled with traditional furniture that matched the style of home. The walls had several large photographs of both AJ and Amelia in their earlier years. No Norman Rockwell family photographs. At least not in the hall.

AJ helped Sasha with her coat once they were in the family room.