From Exes To Expecting. Laurel Greer

damp eyes. Holy hell. Through all of his travels, the countless people he’d captured with his camera lens, he hadn’t come across irises that exact blend of amber and spring green. Nor had he ever encountered eyes that could stare right to the core of his soul. A fist clamped around his stomach. He released her arm and tucked a damp wave of hair behind her ear. “That’s why we cut and ran. Better for both of us.”

      “Was it really? Better, that is.” Her lips parted and her chest rose and fell faster than normal.

      “I’m betting my mom would say it was. My dad jerked her around for almost a decade—did the same to Mackenzie and me—before disappearing. Our decision seems miles more responsible.”

      Her expression softened, and she touched his face. Skilled physician’s fingers drawing down his cheek, leaving behind a trail of aching emptiness. They settled on his left pec. Did she know she owned the organ beating under her palm? That he’d given it to her in high school, and even through long-distance breakups and divorce, he’d never quite gotten it back?

      “I’m not putting all this on you, you know,” she said. “I changed my mind. Was just as much at fault as you sticking to your need to roam.”

      He settled his hand over hers and squeezed. “Never thought you were.”

      “We’ll get through working together somehow. Through seeing each other every day.”

      Anticipation, blended with dread, fused his heart to his lungs. He wanted to see her every day. And knew he’d feel like he was walking on knife blades each day he did.

      “Maybe it’ll help us find closure,” she added.

      He snorted.

      “What?”

      “We’ve wanted each other for over a decade. I don’t see that ending for me after spending two weeks watching you trot around the WiLA sites in tight technical gear.”

      Her cheeks pinked. Her hand still rested on his chest and her fingertips dug into the muscle a fraction. “Kind of like you showing up on my dock in a fricking wetsuit?”

      “I couldn’t exactly turn down the invitation when Drew extended it. Figured the fewer questions the better.” Sending her a pained grin, he brushed the backs of his fingers along her jawline. “And you can’t point fingers about wetsuits.”

      The corner of her mouth curved as she toyed with the open zipper on his hoodie, running the tab up and down the teeth. “Pretty sure Cadie and Mackenzie suspect something’s going on between us.”

      “We’ll hide it. Even if you did decide that you were ready to be honest about our marriage, dropping it on our families right before Drew and Kenz tie the knot would be the definition of unfair.”

      Nodding, she slid her hand under the cotton of his hoodie. It rested on his waist. What he would give for her to drop that hand lower, cup his hardening length. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight, hoping she didn’t notice how much of an effect she was having on him. “I should probably go.”

      It would be a long walk back, especially in flip-flops, but he didn’t trust himself to stay in her presence any longer without reaching for the row of tiny buttons holding the fabric of her robe snug under her breasts.

      She stepped into him, until only an inch separated their bodies. A charged, heated energy thrummed between them, seeped from his skin deep into his bones. He couldn’t be the first to close the space. Couldn’t do that to her.

      He didn’t have to. Standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss just above the collar of his T-shirt. “I dunno. If we’re needing closure... Maybe you should stay.”