When I could finally think again, I pulled back just enough to look at him. His hair was even more disheveled than before, his lips swollen from my kisses, his eyes still dark with satisfaction.
“Well, that sure was...” I started.
“Better than last night?” he finished, grinning.
“Different. Last night was?—”
“Careful. Nervous. Both of us trying not to mess it up.”
“And this morning?”
His grin turned wicked. “This morning we stopped being careful.”
I laughed and kissed him, soft and slow this time. “I like not being careful with you.”
“Good.” He rolled us over gently, withdrawing from me with a wince. “Because I plan on being very not careful with you on a regular basis.”
He dealt with the condom quickly, then pulled me back against him, tucking me into his side like I belonged there.
“We really should order breakfast,” I said eventually, not moving.
“We should,” Patrick agreed, also not moving.
“The kids will be wondering where I am.”
“Mrs. Kowalski will have questions about where I spent the night.”
“We’re terrible parents.”
“The worst,” he agreed cheerfully. “Completely irresponsible.”
I tilted my head up to look at him. “No regrets though?”
His expression softened. “Not a single one. You?”
I thought about it—really thought about it. The guilt that should have been there wasn’t. The fear that I was betraying Marco’s memory didn’t materialize. There was just this: Patrick’s arm around me, the satisfaction still humming through my body, the certainty that I’d made the right choice.
“No regrets,” I said firmly. “Just... joy.”
“Even the messy kind?”
I smiled against his chest. “Especially the messy kind.” I sat up, pulling the sheet with me as I searched for the room service menu. “Where do you think they keep the menu?”
Patrick reached for the leather folder on the nightstand. “Here, I think—no, that’s just the hotel information.” He tried the drawer. “Maybe in here? Ah, found it.”
He handed me the menu, and I looked it over it quickly. “Everything seems good.”
“I’m not picky. Order whatever you like.”
“Really?” I tilted my head. “Dangerous words. What if I order something truly horrific?”
“Like what?” He looked amused.
“I don’t know. Pickled herring and chocolate chip pancakes?”
Patrick pretended to consider it. “Well, I am Scottish. We’re known for our... adventurous palates.”
“Haggis,” I said with mock seriousness. “That’s all I know about Scottish cuisine.”
