“The fourth,” I answer over my shoulder, but keep walking.
“Tell her when you get back. The last thing I want to do is ruin her fucking holiday. You’ll do a good enough job of that in a few weeks.”
I keep my eyes focused on my destination.
“And I’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”
Later, Amy stands clutching her second-place trophy in my office. “Did you see me?” she says, her voice shrill with excitement.
“You looked incredible,” I tell her. I’m pretending to concentrate on a spreadsheet. The truth is, I didn’t watch her, unsettled after my conversation with Trey. Shame stabs at my collar, blazing under my shirt.
She wanders over and presses her lips against mine.
“Maybe we should give the party a miss,” she whispers. “Let’s go back to your place and bring in the bells in bed.” She spins my chair to face her, pulling herself up onto my lap. “Can I convince you to leave your post, Mr. Harley? You have other duties to attend to.”
***
Last night was incredible. We snuck out of the rear door of the gym into the night. Amy had never been to my apartment before. I was nervous about her seeing it.
Very rarely do I take women home. Normally my relationships?if you can call them that?take place in hotels or over my office desk. I like the anonymity that arrangement gives me, the power. I have never had to evict a screaming woman from my home. It’s my safe space.
But having Amy there is different. Her laugh echoing off the kitchen tiles, her shoes dumped beside mine—it all felt wrong and right at the same time. The feeling was both calming and confusing.
We had the most perfect night together. Every touch, kiss, and sensation was more gratifying than the last. I’d acquainted myself with every part of her body. Sure, we’d had sex before, but this was more. It was like having an out-of-body experience.
My ecstasy came not only from my own pleasure but from hers. The way she closed her eyes and moaned when she peaked. The hiss she made when I took her nipple between my teeth. How her fingers played with my hair when I was focused between her legs. The taste of her on my tongue, my own addictive cocktail.
Her pleasure is my ultimate aphrodisiac.
Now, we’re lying in bed as the early morning sunshine peeks through a crack in the curtains. Amy is still sleeping, her head on my chest with one arm draped across my torso. She’s snoring softly, her gentle breath on my skin as my hand runs up and down her spine. On instinct, I lower my mouth to her hair and kiss the top of her head.
She stirs, and I freeze, not wanting to wake her, but her wriggling continues. After a few minutes, beautiful brown eyes look at me beneath dark lashes.
“Morning,” she purrs. “We definitely made the right decision coming back here last night. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more explosive New Year.”
I chuckle. “There were certainly plenty of fireworks,” I agree. “Shall we get some breakfast?”
“Do we have to get up?” she moans. “Can we not just stay in bed all day?”
“We could, but I may end up taking a bite out of you. I’m ravenous. You worked me hard last night, you filthy girl. Your pussy and I are now the best of friends.”
She smiles against my skin and drops her eyes away, embarrassed. Her cheeks warm against my ribs; the soft slide of her hair on my stomach tightens everything lower down.
“I’ll make us something to eat, then we can come back to bed. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” she says and kisses my chest.
Amy sits at the breakfast bar on a high stool. She’s wearing my navy silk robe with nothing underneath, one of her long, shapely legs crossed over the other, and her platinum hair is piled on top of her head. Every time she shifts, the robe parts just enough to tease a little more.
Her voice fills the room as she chats away about yesterday’s competition and how excited she is about going to Thailand. My chest tightens slightly. I really should tell her about the gym before we go, but I don’t want to risk her not coming. So, I stay quiet.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been abroad,” she says. “Terry and I never really had the money to go away somewhere exotic.” She flushes slightly when she mentions her ex-husband’s name. “Sorry,” she adds.
“What for?” I ask, confused.
“For talking about my past relationship.”
“Why? You were married for a long time. There are always going to be memories or past experiences that include him. Don’t be embarrassed about mentioning his name.”
