“Don’t I know it,” Braydon agreed, a smile in his voice.
“One of these days you’ll have to make it official and put that wedding ring on her finger.”
“Trust me, Bubba, I intend to.”
“Talk to you later,” Sawyer said and then disconnected the call as he pulled into his driveway. He could hear Buster barking inside the house, clearly not too happy being left alone.
Once inside, after soothing Buster for a minute, Sawyer headed to his room and grabbed some clothes for the night. He was anxious to get back to Kennedy’s and he knew as soon as word got out, his family would be descending on his house, making it damn near impossible to get back to her, so he double-timed it.
His thoughts drifted back to something he heard Kennedy say to Tim at the scene: I do have to tell my father and Sawyer what you told me. It’ll be their decision on how to handle things from that point.
He had no idea what she’d been referring to, but he fully intended to ask her about it when he got back with food. Until then, he shook off the thought. After all, the sooner he got his shit together, the sooner he’d be back with her.
And at the moment, that was all he wanted.
chapter TWENTY-TWO
Kennedy stood in her kitchen, staring into the refrigerator. She was hungry, but she didn’t know what she wanted. Sawyer was supposed to bring food back, but she didn’t know when he was going to show up and in the meantime, she feared her neighbors were going to get worried if her stomach growled any louder.
She opted for a glass of cranberry juice—mixed with a couple of shots of vodka—to tide her over, then headed into the living room and plopped down on the couch. She smiled, not quite sure what she found so amusing, but the events of the day had finally gotten to her. Maybe she was losing her mind.
After all, she had been kidnapped.
The idea caused a slightly hysterical laugh to burst out of her mouth.
What the hell had made Tim think it was all right to lie to her just so he could get her alone to talk?
Maybe she had been wrong in not explaining to him exactly why she’d broken up with him. Granted, in her defense, she thought he’d realized it long before the time came for her to call a halt to their relationship. Not having sex in roughly five weeks should’ve said it all. It had been like a red flashing sign for Kennedy, but clearly Tim hadn’t noticed.
Which was a little scary.
Kennedy’s thoughts drifted to Sawyer. She couldn’t imagine Sawyer being able to go that long without sex.
Speaking of . . . There was a knock on her front door seconds before it opened. Buster snuck past Sawyer’s feet and came directly for her, jumping up into her lap and offering her puppy kisses.
“Hey, buddy. What’s up?” she asked the dog, her eyes moving to the bag Sawyer was carrying in his hand. Her brain relayed the information to her stomach and the damn thing growled again.
“Hungry, huh?” Sawyer asked, chuckling as he carried the bag to the kitchen.
“Starving,” she told him as she got to her feet, carrying her empty glass back to the kitchen. “What did you get?”
“Country fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and fried okra.”
“Oh, God, I think I love you,” Kennedy said without thinking. As soon as the words were out, she slammed her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as she watched Sawyer in horror. What the hell was wrong with her?
He simply laughed, giving her a look that promised something wicked later and she exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just—”
“Hush,” Sawyer said firmly, moving to stand right in front of her.
His blue-gray eyes were so intense, her breath escaped her again.
“I’m not gonna interrogate you about those words. Nor am I gonna expect you to repeat them.” Sawyer’s lips came down on hers gently, but left far too quickly. When he looked back into her eyes and added, “Yet,” to his sentence, she nearly choked.
“Time to eat,” he told her, stepping back and urging her toward the chair, his sinful smile still plastered on his face.
Unable to form words, Kennedy lowered herself into the chair and watched as he spread the food out in front of them after he grabbed plates and silverware from the kitchen. Once her plate was in front of her, she picked up her fork and stared at her food with more interest than was probably necessary.
It wasn’t until Sawyer chuckled that she looked over at him, a smile forming on her own lips.
“Eat,” he commanded, and she did.
They both dug in, holding the conversation until they were finished. While she did the dishes—or tried to, anyway—Sawyer teased her ruthlessly by kissing her neck and sliding his hands delicately over her hips, her waist, the undersides of her breasts, until she couldn’t take anymore. Turning off the water, she turned to face him only to find herself plastered to him, his hands fisting in her hair while hers roamed the back of his head, grasping for purchase as she devoured him.