He made a noise of protest, but I gave a firm little tug on his hair and he crawled back up into my arms.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” I said when the light was off again and I was cuddled up close to him. I’d promised him cuddling, after all.
He was right on the edge of dreams. “What have you been thinking, JJ?” he murmured.
“If your sister wanted to get rid of her memories of you, she would have painted over your mural. Maybe she put your triptych into storage for safekeeping or…something.”
“Maybe.” He sounded wide awake again. Dammit.
“You really are talented, you know,” I said, hugging him closer.
“Yeah. World’s greatest cocksucker.”
I huffed a laugh. “Youknowwhat I mean.”
He snuggled even closer to me in a silent thank you for the compliment. But my thoughts kept me awake long after Miller’s breathing had subsided into a regular pattern.
Where the hellwasthis sister of his? How was I going to explain it to the Boss if I couldn’t find her? My usual avenues of inquiry were drying up fast and I was running out of ideas.
Not to mention what would happen if the Boss ever found out about tonight. Sleeping with Miller Beaumont had been a bad idea the first time I did it, and a worse one the second time around.
Not that the sex wasn’t amazing, and the connection between us...
It was real.
Fuck, itwasreal, and that was the problem. I had nothing to offer him beyond sex, and I already wanted more than that from him. But my body, my soul, my life—they weren’t mine to give.
I’d already forfeited them to the Castellanis.
CHAPTER22
MILLER
I wokeup alone and sprawled all over the bed. It took me a second to remember where I was, and another second to open my eyes and find Jack. He was sitting at the table eating…Froot Loops?
“Hey,” I croaked.
“You slept in.”
So he wasn’t a cuddler in the light of day. Noted.
“Guess so,” I rasped, and then coughed and sat up. My head felt thick, like I was hungover without the added delights of nausea or dizziness. Still, the combination of stress and lack of sleep, plus marathon blow jobs to wind up the night—or early morning—had done a number on me. “What’s for breakfast?”
“I’ll go out and get you something.”
“I’ll just have what you’re having.”
“Dry cereal? There’s no milk.”
I rubbed the sleep from both my eyes, yawned, and asked, “Is there coffee?” Off his nod, I said, “Caffeine is my usual breakfast, anyway. But first…” I headed to the bathroom.
When I emerged, feeling only slightly more awake, the coffee pot was working away and there was a mug next to it.
“No creamer,” he said as I wandered over there to wait for the machine. “No sugar,” he added, as I poured out my coffee.
“Apparently not,” I muttered under my breath. When I’d filled my cup I sat down at the table opposite him.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes, until Jack cleared his throat. “Listen, about last night...
