Face forward, Montana spoke under his breath. “They were teens. Kids.”
“I know …” I huffed. A thought hit me. “What about my stuff?”
Montana shot me a look that read,Of all the neurons in your head, that’s the one you chose?
The next morning, I awoke with a smile and rolled over onto a mattress for the monarchs and kissed Darius’s chubby cheek. Cute Little Dude.
Ugh. Not Little Dude. He was royalty. A king. All along, I’d given him an impactful name. His real birth certificate read Malik Caldwell. If we hadn’t run. All the other names? They also meantking; he just didn’t remember them.
I pressed my lips to long lashes fanned across golden skin. “I love this name for you, son. We’ll keep it.”
Did that mean … I’d take Montana up on his offer to stay? The trip to Montana’s home traveled past oak canopies that swallowed moonlight. The city’s hum vanished, replaced by blessed silence. He’d said the house overlooked water. I’d only seen darkness.
I climbed out of the fancy four-poster bed, went to the balconydoor, and gasped. A river curved through the land below. The water’s reflection held the blue sky and golden notes of morning.
“Happy New Year, Zuri. This is heaven speaking,” I murmured.Maybe we could stay?
Zuri, please.
A man like Montana?
No, Big Country—his alias had the ego to boot—he was insatiable. The nerve of him!Hemade me add stipulations last night while I was halfway to the pearly gates in his arms.
He eyed me like a Vegas buffet and End World Hunger, which scared me. I’d only been with one man. Edwin hadn’t stared at me nearly as hungrily, still look where it got me.
Shaking my head, I approached the white cedar dresser with more storage than we had clothing and took my backpack from a drawer.
I forked a hand through my locs. New York threw chaos into my method. Well, I should call my buddy. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the contacts.Woah. Most of them Babineauxs. I stopped on the contact. One letter: C.
But I wasn’t ready to relinquish this heaven. This … Journey.
Chose this name in hopelessness too. I’d laughed at my life that day. I smiled, then stepped into the en suite bathroom to brush my teeth and shower.
Virginia gave me the day off. Today, I was supposed to rest. But Montana waited in the living room.
A wall-sized trifold glass door stood open. Sunlight spilled across the floor, catching the glow of his flawless skin. My pulse jumped when my eyes landed on his body and dragged over washboard abs. Muscles glistened in the sunlight.
He wore basketball shorts. Those dang shorts rode low on his inguinal ligaments, where the abdominal muscles—rectus abdominis and obliques—met his transversus abdominis. A Montana trifecta of temptation. Every line, every shadow, every muscle screamed danger and desire at the same time. In normal female lingo, we called it the V-cut. The V-line. The V-muscle. TheV-happy.A perfect angle to make you forget your own name, sanity, even your profession.
“Put on a shirt,” I hissed.
A slow smile played on his lips. “You’re a doctor.”
“How do you …?” I clamped my mouth shut.
“Can’t see you in colorful scrubs. And you said doctor last night.”
Dang, that was true!“So, you’re telling me”—I paused, since gulping was apparently a requirement around temptation—“ahem, you’re calling me boring?”
“Never that. But yep. A doctor. You just confirmed it.” He winked.
I glanced away. Another gulp.
Montana went to a massive kitchen island with multiple sinks.He pushed himself onto the marble waterfall with his hands and sat down. “How do I look, Dr. Sweet Cheeks?”
I poked him.
Was I proud of it?
