Does it bother you? No, I mean, it’s your house. You can wear whatever you want or not wear.
Whatever. Luther’s smirk widened. Yum. You’re blushing. I’m not, Allesia protested, her face definitely on fire.
It’s cute. I’m not cute. I’m a grown woman. A grown woman who’s blushing because her husband isn’t wearing a shirt.
Luther turned back to the stove. Interesting. Allesia wanted to die or throw something at him.
Possibly both. I thought you’d be older. Allesia blurted out. Luther paused. Older? I mean, not older.
You’re 45. I know that. I just thought Shut up, Allesia. Shut. I up. You’re in really good shape.
For someone your age. Luther turned around again, his expression unreadable. For someone my age.
That came out wrong. Clearly, but there was amusement in his eyes. I practice kung fu.
Have for 20 years. It keeps me fit. Kung fu. Why do you sound so surprised?
I don’t know. I guess I thought that old guys like me just sit around getting fat.
Luther interrupted, his tone teasing. Now you’re not old. I’m 45. Uh, you’re 25. That’s a 20-year gap.
I’m practically ancient. You don’t look ancient. Allesia muttered into her coffee. No, no, you look her head supplied several options.
Hot like you should be on a magazine cover. Fit. You look very fit, she said instead.
Luther’s smile was dangerous. Thank you. You look very fit, too. Allesia’s eyes shot up to meet his, and the heat in his amber gaze made her stomach flip.
Eggs? Luther asked, breaking the moment. Sure, not thanks. They ate at the kitchen island, a massive slab of white marble.
And Allesia tried very hard not to watch the way Luther’s arms flexed when he cut his food.
So, Luther said after a moment, “Tell me about yourself.” Allessia’s heart jumped. What do you want to know?
Anything. Everything. We’re married. I should probably know more about you than what I read in your social media profile.
Leave a Comment