Connor tamped down his urge to laugh and nipped at her earlobe instead. “To drive me up the wall? Send me bursting through my zipper?” A satisfied grin broke through on its own accord. “Though I guess I should be flattered to be the reason you bought all that stuff.”

The cutest derisive snort he’d ever heard shot out of her then—like an impeccably aimed torpedo. “Late breaking news, Connor: scientists have in fact discovered that the earth doesn’t revolve around you; women buy toys for themselves all the time.”

He grit his teeth and did everything short of reciting tort law to avoid even thinking about Abby having any sort of toy-based fun.

Sitting up, he declared sternly, “Foul.”

“What? On what grounds?” Her obvious war between indignation and amusement wasn’t lost on him. Damn, he was having fun.

“When I agreed to your little who-can-resist-who stint, you didn’t say anything about weaponizing our attacks.”

She blinked innocently. “Weapons? You make them sound so sinister. I’d say they’re more like…private tools. Survival tools, if you will. For my time here. Naturally, you were never meant to see them.”

“Bull. Next, you’ll tell me the snowflake masquerading as underwear in that bag is worn strictly for comfort. Hell, I’ve seen more fabric on the teeny doilies in Skylar’s toy tea sets—”

“Ohhh,” she cut in softly with a smile. “I remember those. Whenever I’d babysit, she always used to go on and on about how her ‘bestest Uncle Connor’ hosted the fanciest dress-up tea parties.”

“I wore suits,” he clarified gruffly, “and don’t change the subject. Why buy sexy lingerie if not to have them be seen?”

By me.

He didn’t have to say it out loud, they were both thinking it.

And his ego was celebrating it.

Abby’s chin lifted stubbornly. “What do you mean, why? Easy access, of course,” she answered, straight-faced. “You know what they say…better felt than seen.”

His imagination went nuts.

Picturing Abby wearing the microscopic scrap of lace he saw earlier for easy access in private unhinged him, propelled him to shackle her wrists above her head with one hand and begin tickling her ribs with the other. “Another foul.”

“Stop!” she screeched, dissolving into a breathless puddle of mirth. “Okay, I admit it! These were all dirty, dirty fouls on my part; you should definitely take a free throw shot.”

He paused, wondering where she was going with this.

She pointed to the trashcan. “There’s the basket. My new panties can be the ball…since yours are clearly in a twist.”

Incredulous, he dialed up the tickle torture to merciless.

Her squealing ‘I-take-it-backs’ hit an ultrasonic range as she wriggled and squirmed and bucked until soon, he was fairly certain he was suffering more than she was.

Breathing hard, he released her wrists and rolled onto his back beside her. “You’re planning to drive me completely crazy these next few weeks, aren’t you?”

Dangling half off the bed, limbs all akimbo, she heaved between breaths, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

With a groaning chuckle, he dragged her up to steal a long, hard kiss while she was too tickle-drunk to object. And the smile he couldn’t seem to contain around her snuck up on him once again.

Mostly because she’d sobered up enough to proclaim weakly, “Foul…and a really mean one at that.”

For the first time in his life, two weeks of imposed abstinence didn’t seem all that bad.

CHAPTER NINE

IT WAS WORSE THAN BAD.

It was impossible. Six days of pure, unmitigated, using-up-all-the-cold-water agony. And there were still eight days ahead to face.

Survival was looking highly unlikely.

He had to admit though that the last six days had been pretty great in their own right.

Fun.

Given the constraints of her busy writing schedule, Connor made sure to limit himself to only one short, concentrated flirt session with Abby a day, either by phone or a flurry of text message bantering.

And every night, she’d greet him at home with a radiant smile, and depending on how steamy their flirting had been that day, a damn cute blush, too.

It was addictive.

After seeing her warming his home her first night there, he’d found it impossible to stay away each following night as well. Sure, he still had his occasional evening meetings and late office work but he always made sure to be ‘home by dinner.’

What a concept.

Growing up, his father had never felt a need to do it more than once, maybe twice a week. Even though he’d had a wife and two sons waiting at home for him. As a kid, Connor had missed him, from middle school on, not so much. Now as an adult with someone to actually come home to for once—regardless how temporary it was—he felt renewed disappointment in his father. Again.

Or rather, still.

“I cooked us up some Greek food tonight,” called out a cheerful voice from the kitchen, breaking into his thoughts, luring him over to where all the sumptuous smells were originating.

The sight of Abby bent over pulling something out from the oven was the best thing he’d set his eyes on all day...at least until she plopped the baking tin on the stove and gifted him with her most dazzling, room-brightening smile yet.

Then that officially became the greatest thing he’d seen all day.

Perhaps all year.

Yeah, it took a real bastard not to want to come home to this every night.

“Hi honey, I’m home.” He just wanted to try it on for size. Strangely, it felt good. Like a vintage suit tailored just for him. Tomorrow, maybe he’d even go pre-technicolor and trip over an ottoman on his way in. Milk the novelty of this all while it lasted.

“Everything looks great.” He kissed her cheek—the only body part she was letting him kiss. For now. “But you should’ve told me you were making such specific dishes; I would’ve ordered the groceries you needed online and had them delivered.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been paying for groceries more than I have as it is, which makes zero sense,” she retorted. “Plus, this whole culinary traveling around the world adventure is my thing. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.”

“I’m eating it,” he argued back.

“Just like I’ve eaten on the nights you’ve cooked.” She gave him a look that said, ‘so there.’

See now if the lawyers he faced in court looked half that cute during their rebuttals, he was sure he’d lose a whole lot more.

Grinning, he conceded, “Okay then. Since tomorrow’s my turn to cook, what say I jump on this tour of yours and whip up something really exotic. Like mac & cheese with weenies.”

Abby giggled. “What is it with you and all these comfort Americana dishes? Looking at you, I’d never picture it. Were you one of those that cooked with your mom growing up?”

He snorted. “Hardly. We had a cook, which freed up mother to drink her three square meals more often than not.”

“Oh.” A regretful frown dimmed her face. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey.” He tipped her chin up. “No feeling bad over the poor little rich kid with the present-but-still-absent parents. Did I mention I had my own pony growing up? Well, it was on lease at the polo club but still, how many kids can say that?”

The stubborn glaze of tears in her eyes unnerved him.

No one ever cried for him. Because of him, yes—more than he cared to think about—but never for him.

He bent down and fit his mouth to hers, telling himself it was just a comfort kiss. To take away some of her sadness. Inside, he knew he was really just capturing the memory for himself so he could open it like a Christmas gift one day when she was long gone.

God, when was the last time he’d actually gotten a gift? Wrapped personally just for him?