Drunk on Love(78)

Well, not almost. Okay, she’d have to deal with that fear, and why she was like this, in therapy. At some point.

For now, she turned back to her computer, but stayed close to him.

“We should finish this newsletter so I don’t get fussy again.”

He kissed her cheek.

“Let’s take a look at it.”

She set her computer on a pillow on her lap, and he peered over her shoulder.

“Oh no, we have to fix that subject line,” he said.

She sighed.

“I know. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that you’re exhausted and you’ve been working very long days this week, that’s what you were thinking.” He dropped his arm from around her shoulders and then nudged her legs. “Swing those up on the couch.”

She did what he said. He pulled the cardigan off her shoulders.

“Now. Let’s get this newsletter done.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed his thumbs deep into her upper back. She let out a moan, and he stopped. “Too hard?”

She shook her head.

“No, that’s perfect. But how do you expect me to do any work when you’re doing that?”

He dropped a quick kiss on the back of her neck.

“We’re both good at multitasking. Plus, what you have right now is too boring, matter-of-fact, corporate. You want this newsletter to feel relaxed, fun, even a little sexy, don’t you? You’ve got to get in the mood to write it.”

The whole time he was talking, he massaged her shoulders, her upper back. She’d thought she’d known what his fingers could do to her—apparently she had whole new avenues to discover.

“Number one, you’re absolutely correct about the newsletter, and what was wrong with it,” she said. “Number two, that feels incredible. I can’t believe you’ve kept this talent from me for so long.”

He kissed her neck again.

“I apologize. Now, let’s get to this newsletter before we get too distracted.”



* * *





THEY STAYED THERE ON the couch for the next hour, as he gave her a massage and she rewrote the newsletter, with occasional interjections from him on things to add or change.

Luke had been pissed, really pissed, when she’d made that crack about what he’d come over for. It wasn’t until they were back inside, and she’d kissed him like that on the couch, that he realized why. He loved having sex with Margot, fucking loved it—it got better every time; he still felt lucky that he got to do it, that he got to kiss her and touch her and hear how she responded to him and got to feel her hands and lips and tongue on him. But that wasn’t why he’d rushed over to her house that day. Or any other day. He just wanted to be around her, be with her, talk to her, hold her, make her feel good, make her happy. The way he felt when he was with her.

And in that moment, when she’d said that to him, he’d worried that she didn’t feel the same way. That all she wanted from him was sex. That had been all she wanted that first night, she’d been pretty clear about that. But he didn’t think she felt like that anymore. Even though she hadn’t told anyone at the winery about them. Of course she hadn’t—why had he even asked that? He had been her employee only a few weeks ago, and he knew things were weird between her and her brother. It was fine.

He’d almost told her about seeing Grant at the inn, but something had stopped him. If he did that, he’d have to talk about what Grant had said, and how he’d been irritated about it all week. And he didn’t want to talk to Margot about that; he was still embarrassed that he’d told her in the car on the way back from the auction why he’d quit, and that he sometimes felt like he hadn’t been good enough, strong enough, for that job. He didn’t want her to think that, too.

He dropped another kiss on the back of her neck. She let out a soft sigh, pressed a few buttons on her laptop, and closed it.

“I think I’m done for tonight.” She set the laptop on the coffee table and turned all the way around to face him. “I’m really glad you’re coming to the party.”

He pushed her hair back from her face.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

She leaned forward and kissed him hard.

“You know . . . while I know that’s not why you came over, I still like that a whole lot.”

He laughed and put his hand on her waist.

“I really hope I didn’t give you the impression that isn’t important to me, because it is, very much so. Especially when you look at me like you are right now.”

She reached for his belt.

“Does that mean I can take off your pants?”

He leaned back on the couch.

“You can do whatever you want to me.”

She smiled, her fingers already pulling his fly open.

“Whatever I want?” She had a glint in her eye that he liked an enormous amount. “I’m going to keep that in mind. However.” She pulled his pants all the way down and tossed them to the side, and then she stroked the length of him. He’d be embarrassed at how fast he responded to her, if he didn’t know how much she liked it. “We’ll do whatever I want next time,” she said. “What do you want? Right now?”

He knew she knew the answer to that question. He smiled at her as she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs.