I wake slowly. The room is semidark, and it feels weird not hearing a lawn mower.
The faint sound of traffic in the background is almost relaxing.
I look over to the man sleeping beside me. He’s on his back. His dark hair and olive skin are a striking contrast to the crisp white linen, and his thick black lashes flutter, as if he’s dreaming. His pouty big red lips softly part as he inhales.
I’ve never been with such a beautiful-looking man before. Everything about him is out of a catalog. Tall, dark, and handsome. A rippled and naturally athletic body . . . but it’s what’s inside that calls to me.
Underneath the fancy wrapping and the Miles Media surname . . . is a beautiful, gentle soul.
The man inside of this perfect body is who I want. The rest of him is just window dressing. I smile as I inhale deeply with hope.
This is a revelation.
I’ve found a man who ticks every box, and okay, there may be some issues with my children, but wouldn’t I have that with any man I meet?
He wants to try, and God damn it, I’m giving it my best go.
I run the backs of my fingers through the hair on his lower stomach that leads down to his pubic hair.
The power of touch.
I never knew how much I needed it, craved it. And now that we’ve acknowledged that what’s between us is more, I can hardly keep my needy hands off him.
Mine.
He’s looking forward to the future, and for the first time in a long time . . . so am I.
His eyes slowly open on a deep inhale, and I smile over at him. “Morning.”
He pulls me close and holds me tight. “Anderson, you’re like a fucking rooster. Why are you awake so early?”
“Just admiring the view.” I smile as I kiss his chest.
His naked skin up against mine is warm and hard . . . perfect.
He pulls out of my arms and gets up and goes into the bathroom, and I lie in bed wearing a stupid smile. I can’t wipe it off my face.
After a while he comes back and lies on his side, facing me. His eyes are still sleepy, and it’s obvious he wasn’t ready to wake yet. “What?” he mumbles.
“Nothing . . . feeling happy.”
He smiles sleepily. His eyes drift back closed.
I lean up onto my elbow and stare over at him. “How many women have you slept with, Tris?”
“Too many to admit to,” he replies, eyes still closed.
“Oh.” I think for a moment. What does that mean? How many is too many to admit to? Jeez.
“You wore a condom, though, right?” I frown.
“Yes, Anderson, I wore a condom. You don’t have an STD. Go back to sleep.”
I roll my lips to hide my smile. “You . . .” I frown as I try to articulate what I want to say. “You didn’t wear a condom with your girlfriends, though, did you?”
“Yes, I did, actually.” He shrugs. “Well, not my second girlfriend, but she was the only one apart from you.”
“Oh.” I frown. He has spoken of this second girlfriend before. “You loved her a lot, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Is this a Saturday morning or a Spanish fucking Inquisition?” he mutters dryly.
I giggle. “I want to get to know you. I’m going to ask you questions all day long.”
“Hmm.” He frowns, unimpressed, eyes still closed.
“You ask me a question now,” I say. “This is how we learn about each other.”
He reaches over, drags my body to his, and kisses my forehead. “I don’t care what happened to you before me. I only care about us.” He pulls me tighter and kisses my temple again. “Go back to sleep, Anderson,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.
I smile. I love him like this. All sleepy and docile. “I’m not tired. You go back to sleep. I’ll keep watching you like a stalker.”
“Hmm.” He snuggles back into his pillow, unfazed by my comment. “You’re a weird person.”
I lean up onto my elbow again and smile at the resting god in front of me. I’m not even joking; I would pay good money to watch this spectacular blanket show. “It’s okay, Tris,” I whisper. “I’ve only ever murdered two men in their sleep before. You’re completely safe.”
He opens one eye. “The fact that that even crosses your mind to say is somewhat concerning, Claire.”
I smile mischievously. “Shh, go to sleep, baby . . . nighty night.”
He smirks, realizing that I’m not going to let him go back to sleep. He flicks the blankets back, exposing his naked body. “I suppose you can help yourself,” he huffs, as if I am an inconvenience. “I am sleeping through it, though. Don’t expect any input from me.”
I laugh and kiss his chest as I work my way down his body toward his dick. “Yes, dear, whatever you say.”
We walk into the restaurant hand in hand. It’s nine o’clock on Saturday night, and we’re only just going out for dinner in trendy downtown Manhattan. What is this ulterior cool universe? I’m usually tucked up in bed about now, too exhausted to even read.
I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion that when most people begin to see each other, it’s a date and then a sweet goodbye. Casual at first, and maybe after a while a sleepover once in a while. It’s slow and even tempered, and it builds over time. Tristan and I have done it all backward.
Our first meeting was a fight; then out of the blue he asked me out.
We met at a conference, had two hookups, then spent an entire weekend together. Then we didn’t see each other for six weeks, had another fight in his office-this time, over my son. Reconnected, had a week of mind-blowing lunchtime sex and another sleepover on my couch, had another fight, then didn’t see each other for another week, and now we are spending an entire weekend together again. It seems like we are all or nothing, but this time is different . . . we made a promise to each other of a possible tomorrow.
Being here in New York with him has been perfect.
We had a lazy morning, and he made me breakfast. Then we went for a walk and had lunch in a café on the edge of a park and read the papers. We’ve laughed and talked and kissed like schoolkids, made love, and had a late-afternoon sleep from which we didn’t even wake up until seven o’clock. No rushing, no timeline to adhere to with the kids, nothing to cook or clean, nothing to wash, and nowhere we had to be.
We could just be us, together.
It’s been a perfect Saturday.
Tristan leads me into the restaurant by the hand. “Hello, Mr. Miles,” says the man at reception.
“Hello, Bill,” he replies. Tristan casually glances over at me, and our eyes lock. He gives me a sexy wink.
My heart somersaults in my chest, and I bite my bottom lip to stifle my over-the-top smile. It’s the strangest feeling. It’s like a heavy dark cloud has been lifted, and happiness is literally beaming out of me.
I can feel myself glowing.