Free His Four Poster Bed (Bedroom Secrets Series Book 2) by Emma Thorne Page B

and you have to figure out how to glue yourself back together again and hope you are stronger where you’ve healed.
    I owed it to myself to be strong with Marco. I needed answers.
    “I want to ask you another question,” I said, softly. My hand moving up and down his thigh felt so natural. Every touch between us felt electric.
    “Anything,” he said, glancing my way.
    “Who is Veronica really?” I braced myself. “Is she your roommate?”
    “My roommate?” he repeated. “No, absolutely not.”
    “Did she tell you that I ran into her this morning, in your kitchen.”
    “Christ, no,” he exhaled slowly. “She was supposed to arrive after you left. She’s helping me with a project that’s time sensitive. She should have told me.”
    “See, that sounds weird to me,” I said, unable to stop my pulse from racing. “You aren’t really telling me anything about who she is, project, time sensitive. Those are just words.”
    Marco put his hand over mine. “You have to trust me. There is nothing romantic between us. Veronica is like a sister to me.”
    “She’s beautiful, she’s charming,” I said.
    “She is all those things and I love her as if she is family,” he said, emphasizing the last word.
    “You should have told me she’d be at your place. She probably heard me crying out in ecstasy last night.”
    “Ecstasy?” he said, grinning. “I’m glad to know we feel the same about our night together.”
    I took a breath and let the knowledge that he’d enjoyed our night together as much as me sink in for a moment.
    “I apologize for this morning,” Marco said, his voice grew serious. “I would never intentionally embarrass you.”
    “That’s good to know,” I said.
    “Veronica is the daughter of my mother’s best friend.”
    “And she lives with you?”
    “She stays with me sometimes. Veronica works for the government,” he said. “She works for an agency that requires her to go undercover which means she has a home of her own in San Francisco, but she is rarely there.”
    “I feel silly asking this, but is she a spy?”
    “She is not a spy. She works on drug cases, the DEA.”
    “And you two are just friends.”
    “I grew up with her. As a boy before my mother died, we lived half the year in Guadalajara, the other in New York City. Veronica was my first friend in the United States. She has been a good friend to me through the years. She and her family were a tremendous support to me when Mom died. She has never and she never will be my lover. Do you believe me?”
    The car idled at a stoplight downtown. He turned to face me and I studied his expression as he held my gaze steady. A single word kept running through my mind. Yes. Say yes to this man.
    I couldn’t breathe in the silence between us. I felt as though this moment had meaning, that my fate hung on this one question. Did I believe him? Would I let go of my fear and let my heart choose my future instead of my mind?
    “What do you say Odessa. Do you believe me?” Marco asked again, his voice just above a whisper.
    “I do,” I said, a feeling of intense joy and freedom moving through my body. “Yes, I do.” The double meaning of my words were not lost on me, and for once I didn’t back pedal and pull them back.
    Marco grasped my face between his hands and kissed me sending shivers through my whole body. Our lips pressed together I felt as though we were sealing a bond, an agreement between our souls binding us together.
    The spell was broken by a honking horn behind us.
    “Lights changed,” I gasped looking at the green light overhead.
    “All right, all right,” Marco said, turning back to the wheel. “You have got me so distracted.”
    “Is that a bad thing?” I asked, running my hand up his thigh and moving it across the crotch of his pants. I felt him instantly respond growing hard with my touch.
    “No, not a bad thing,” he said. “I want to get you upstairs. Quickly.”
    “Drive faster then,” I said,