I scooted closer and trailed my fingers up and down his arm, tracing the designs of the tattoo. “I want you. And after we rest, I’m going to do you again.”
“That sounds so dirty.” Presley’s grin gleamed in the dim light of the bedroom, and I kissed his mouth.
“I want to do dirty things to you. But for that, we need to get clean. Should we take a shower together?” My feet tangled with his. I couldn’t stop touching him. Now that I’d had a taste of Press, I needed more. The man’s sweetness was like a drug. I craved him.
“I’d like that.”
“Come on, then.”
We showered quickly, soaping each other under the steamy spray.
Afterward, Presley’s head emerged from under the bath towel, his lips quirked up in a hesitant smile. “So you want me to stay?”
A little confused, I stopped towel-drying. “Yeah. I said it earlier, remember?”
“I know. But I wasn’t sure after…if you still meant it.”
The towel dropped to the floor, and I grasped him by the nape of his neck, my gaze matching his. “Why the uncertainty? I thought I was pretty clear on what I wanted.” My lips pressed against his. “You. Here with me.”
“I know you did, but sometimes things change. I wanted to be sure.”
I wound the damp ends of his hair around my fingertips. “The one thing I’m sure of right now is that this is perfect. You want that too, right? There’s no one else?”
For whatever reason, doubt still plagued me that Presley hadn’t told me the truth. I sensed something between us, yet he seemed to be in the moment with me tonight every step of the way. So color me confused. Normally I was a good judge of, if not people, then at least situations.
“No.” His forthright, direct gaze settled the unusual spate of nerves tumbling in my stomach. “I already told you. There is no one else. Only you.”
Relieved, I put my arms around him. “Good. Let’s go downstairs and finish our snack. Then we can go to bed and continue what we started here.”
“Oh?” That teasing grin appeared again on Presley’s lips. “There’s more? I thought we were done.”
“Oh, hell no.” I pushed him against the wall outside the bathroom. “We’re just getting started. We have all night, and tomorrow’s Sunday. I may not let you out of bed at all.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
It was a challenge I didn’t plan on losing.
* * *
I awoke to the hushed quiet of early morning. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table showed the time to be eight forty-five. I blinked and squinted to make sure I was seeing correctly. Another night of untroubled sleep. Presley and I had finished the one bottle of champagne but had nothing else to drink the rest of the evening. We’d watched a movie I couldn’t name if anyone asked, and then I dimly recalled climbing into bed and pulling him next to me.
“Just going to rest for a little.”
Presley laid his head on my chest. “Not a problem.”
Now it was Sunday morning, and I’d slept over nine hours. Slept so deeply, in fact, that I hadn’t even noticed I was alone in bed. A cold chill settled over me, and I threw off the covers. Where was Press? No sound came from the bathroom. Had he left? Why would he disappear? I padded down the steps and peeked into the living room, but it was empty. I sniffed the air and thought I detected the faint scent of something cooking. When I took the stairs down to the kitchen, I found Presley in front of the stove, coffee brewed in the coffeemaker. He was talking to someone on FaceTime, who, from the voice, sounded like Frisco.
“Okay. So you’ve heated the skillet. The bread should be soaked enough. Take two pieces, put them in the pan, and let them cook until browned on both sides. Use a spatula to flip them.”
I leaned against the doorjamb and repressed a smile, watching as Presley concentrated on making French toast. It sizzled as he set it down, and it smelled delicious.
“You promised to tell me about the syrup. I know you said it’s better if it’s heated.”
“Yeah, but you do that right before serving. Go see if there’s any fruit in the fridge.”
“There is. I saw peaches and raspberries.”
