Still connected, he rolls me on top, and we float back to earth.
We must sleep because at some point I wake, my back chilly from the blow of the noisy air conditioner. I reach to the side, find the sheet, and pull it over my damp skin.
His lids slip open a crack and his cock stirs inside me. Then, a corner of his mouth crooks up. “Thank you… Too soon?” He chuckles.
Lifting off him, I hold out my palm. “That’ll be two hundred bucks, sir.”
“Do you take Amex?” His grin makes my chapped lips hurt from smiling.
“Cash is preferred.”
Reaching down, he grabs the blanket at the foot of the bed and covers us. “You are so fucking amazing.”
“Mmm. Ditto.” Inhaling his sexy musk, I snuggle into his warm chest and as he twists a lock of my hair around his finger, I recall our stupid fight.
“I shouldn’t’ve left without an explanation. It was a shit move.”
He shifts so our gazes connect. “Why did you? I thought we had it all sorted out.”
“I guess I freaked. I didn’t want to have the AAST.” I trace the strong curve of his jaw, covered in stubble, while watching his soft lips part.
“Not following you.” He tips my chin up and imprisons my gaze.
“Awkward-after-sex-talk, when both parties must decide whether the deed was a one-night stand or something more.”
He kisses the tip of my nose and nips it. “Where do these rules exist and how can I download a copy?”
Never a giggler, one springs out, surprising me. “It’s tribal intelligence. Everyone just knows.”
“Hmm. Must be a yank thing.”
We make love all night and if my career was not dangling by a frayed thread, I’d spend a month in bed with him.
In the morning, he slips into his jeans, kisses me, then asks, “Breakfast?”
I point to the digital radio alarm clock on the small table to the right of my head. “I think we’re talking lunch.”
“So we are. How about I order some omelets and coffee while we discuss the Chandler case?”
~ Chapter 17 ~
Dash
It’s time I come clean. I’ve been inside her body, and I fear we may be entering uncharted waters. As she exits the shower, my stupid heart does a doubletake. What is it about her? Will she forgive me for ruining her career? For holding back intel?
We use the other double bed as a table and as she pries off lids, I take her hands. “I need to confess something to you.”
“You Brits don’t like burritos?” Cross-legged, she bites down and speaks with her mouth full. “No worries. I can deal.”
Her sweet disposition gives me courage. “When you were in the emergency room, I mirrored your phone.”
Her chewing stops and her eyes pop open. “As in my contacts?”
“As in everything.” I grimace, close one eye, and wait for Mount Vesuvius to blow.
“And you’re just telling me this now?” As her normally alto voice shifts to a high soprano, I prepare to duck, in case she takes a swing. I also pray her coffee’s not too hot because I may be wearing it.
“Is there anything else you’re holding back?” Her brows crease but she hasn’t taken out her weapon so it could be worse.
