Not for very long. Please.
“Be right back.”
With him gone, I have to wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill from the blasting air conditioner.
Less than five minutes later, he returns, carrying my water and the wineglasses that he’s topped off.
I sit up, and he slides in next to me.
We’re both quiet, and I watch the city lights glittering outside the windows. The whole world feels distant, wrapped in glass and quiet.
“Talk to me. That was a lot.”
He’s asking about more than how I’m doing physically, and I take time to consider my answer. “It was. And I’m good with it.” Surprisingly. I’m actually content. I have an incredible new place, a job that’s challenging, a salary I can live on, a best friend who buys me five-dollar wine when I’m broke.
I swirl the bubbles in my glass.
And the best lovemaking I’ve ever experienced.
I know this won’t last, but for right now, here, with him, I feel safe.
He drapes an arm around my shoulder and draws me in a little closer. “I like you like this.”
“How?”
“Satisfied.” His eyes go dark. “And mine.”
I stare at him. His possessiveness should terrify me.
But it doesn’t.
Because it doesn’t feel like control. It feels like a vow.
I don’t answer. Instead I lean into him, let my head rest on his shoulder.
Long, peaceful minutes later, he sets his empty glass on the nightstand, then reaches for mine and takes it from me.
“Are you going to let me sleep?”
“Eventually.” His grin is slow and dangerous as he shifts toward me. “After you scream again…”
Chapter Fifteen
Seraphina
Xavier Blackwell—once my greatest nemesis—is in my kitchen, with his jeans zipped but unfastened. No shirt. No shame.
The man is a walking sin—mussed hair, bare feet, sipping coffee like he owns the sunrise. And me.
Somehow he managed to figure out the high-tech coffee maker, which I’m grateful for. It appears so complicated that the only word I can come up with to describe it is moody. I wasn’t looking forward to the learning curve when I needed coffee.
“Decided to try the Ethiopian roast.” His voice is still scratchy from sleep, and it sends tendrils of awareness through me. “Hope it wasn’t something you wanted to save for a special occasion?”
Even if it was, having him here on a Sunday morning would definitely count as a special occasion.
Because coming closer to him is potentially dangerous, I lean against the doorway, arms folded under my chest to hide the way my nipples are perking up like they’re yearning for his masterful touch. “Is it good? I’m not really a connoisseur.”
“Couldn’t tell that after the way you replaced that crappy drip coffee maker in my office with that one cup-at-a-time brewer. And ordered pods for it that cost a small fortune.”
