One is a Promise (Tangled Lies, #1)

by Pam Godwin

“I’ve memorized every shimmy and thrust of your hips, the sensual movements of your arms, the flirtatious tosses of your head, and the limitless flexibility of your spine. You’re a flesh and muscle articulation of sex. Each vibrating hip drop, quiver in your thighs, and bounce of your tiny tits plants filthy thoughts in a man’s head. His mouth waters, so he orders more to drink. His slacks become too tight, so he remains at the table, hiding the swollen evidence of his intentions. And he’s hungry, so very hungry he stays and he watches and he eats.”

“Are you married?” “I will be.” Resting a leather-sleeved forearm on the gas tank, he leans in. “Does five o’clock tonight work for you?” I sip the coffee and hum. “Is that a proposal?” “It’s a foregone conclusion.” He rubs his jaw with a gloved hand. “I always wondered what you would look like.” “You wondered what I would look like?” “My forever.”

“Mrs. Hartman.” Hartman? That must be his last name. “Yes, Mr. Hartman?” I glance over my shoulder. “I need a first name to accompany the thoughts that will distract me all day.”

“I imagine sex with you would annihilate every experience a man has ever had.”

“The only thing you hate more than an asshole is a guy who isn’t an asshole.” I flatten my spine against the window. “That’s not—” “Sensitive guys bore you, and their flattery gets them nowhere. Assholes make your pulse race and your panties wet, especially when they tell you when, where, and how hard.”

“Ever heard the saying, an optimist laughs to forget, and a pessimist forgets to laugh?”

I need him. I want to hurt him. I yank his mouth against my pussy. Then I shove him away, crying, spitting, “I fucking hate you.” He licks a path up my slit, breathes deeply against my mound, and looks directly in my eyes. “I love you.”

“Loving you is the best kind of self-ruination.” He laughs to himself. “God knows, I needed some renovations. I still do, yet you love me anyway. Your acceptance is humbling.” He stares up at me, his gaze naked, vulnerable. “I’m undeserving.”