Outside of her books, the foundation was the only place where life guaranteed a happy ending—as long as she could stop her uncle Buckley from taking it over and shutting it down.

Nash lifted an eyebrow. “So you’re helping without mansplaining?”

She chuckled. Okay, fine, he got her there. “Except people are actually asking for my help.”

“I see.” He glided his thumb over her shoulder, setting off a jumble of sensations through her. “And that’s why you’re helping me with the mansplaining and everything else?”

She let out a shaky breath. “You mean winning your bet?”

“I’d almost forgotten about the bet.” Heat flared in his gaze when it dipped to her mouth as she took the last drink of her wine. “I guess I’m a little preoccupied with the possibility of us changing the rules of our marriage. Chelle…I want to seduce you. Would you be all right with that?”

A shiver of awareness zipped across her skin, she let out a shaky breath, and she barely managed to stop herself from answering with a yes please to his plan.

Instead, she did the smart, grown-ass woman thing and said, “I’ll think about it.”

As if she would be not thinking about it any time soon. The truth was she was having more and more difficulty not imagining Nash naked. Was there really any harm in a little no-strings fun with her husband?

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chelle

It had been sixteen hours since Nash had told her that he wanted to seduce her, and she was still thinking about it. In fact, it was pretty much all she was thinking about.

Seriously. She was three self-induced orgasms—THREE!—into the day, and she was still coasting along that edge of I’m-gonna-go-fuck-my-fake-husband. It was so bad that she’d abandoned her book and was about to go take the dogs on their third walk of the day when she sniffed the unmistakable smell of fresh paint in the air.

It had to be in her head. Maybe she’d finally crossed that deadly line between reality and fiction her dad had always lectured her about when he caught her reading late into the night as a teen. She’d half convinced herself that the paint fumes were all in her head when she realized the dogs were sniffing the tiny sliver of space between her bedroom door and the floor.

No. Way.

She marched over to the door, flung it open, and the undeniable stench of semi-gloss slapped her across the face.

Yes. Way.