And suddenly the phrase “temporary husband” started sounding like a curse instead of a blessing.

She was so screwed, and she didn’t even care.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Nash

The ride back to Chelle’s apartment was pure fucking torture. The second the car dropped them off in front of her building, he let out a sigh of relief.

But it was too damn soon.

Before they could make it through the lobby, they got stopped by a woman named Suzanne who wanted to complain about Groucho Barks and Mary Puppins. He held it together long enough to admire the way Chelle shut the woman down, and then he hustled them up the stairs. Her door was just down the hallway, a yellow beacon representing the finish line where he’d get to strip her down and taste every inch of her—except for one thing.

Two things, really.

Two furry, yappy, and very happy to see them things that barreled straight for them as soon as they walked through the front door.

“Just give me a second to take them for a quick walk,” she said as she managed to clip on their leashes, even though the dogs were squirming like electric eels.

Yeah. No.

Nash scooped a leashed dog under each arm. “You get naked. I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes went dark with desire, and she didn’t argue.

He would have thought the blast of cold air when he walked out the building’s front door would have been enough to cool him off. He would have been wrong. He swore the snow was melting before the flakes even landed on him as he strode down the block.

“I swear, if you two take care of this fast, I will buy you each a lifetime supply of peanut butter–filled Kong toys.”

Maybe they understood, maybe they took pity on him, or maybe they didn’t want to be outside any longer than he did, because they were ready to go in a half block later. A cooler guy wouldn’t have picked them up and all but sprinted back to the building and up the stairs. Nash was not that guy, though, not when Chelle was waiting for him.

He stashed the dogs in the kitchen with two bowls of kibble, made sure Sir Hiss had his dinner, double-checked there was water, and then rushed to Chelle’s bedroom. He took a second to bring himself into check so he wouldn’t look like one of her wild satyrs ready to fuck at a moment’s notice, and then—fina-fucking-ly he opened the door.

The bed was empty.

Her bathroom was empty.

He highly doubted she was hiding in the closet, but like an asshole, he checked anyway.