When I dress for bed in the silky mint-green pajamas, I say it again.
And again, when I taste the risotto someone heated up. It’s incredible.
I think I say it over and over nearly fifty times until I fall asleep in the middle of the softest, most wondrous bed I have ever dared to dream about.
I wake up in the morning to an empty house. I don’t find the note they left on the kitchen counter until I have walked through nearly the whole place, looking for them.
It’s weird that I don’t see them that entire day. Or the next. By the time I go to bed on the third, I’m starting to think they’ve changed their minds, despite the different colored notes they leave each morning, telling me they’re busy.
11
Layne
The skyline is a soft glow when I roll over, the sun not yet fully over the horizon, and checking the time, I see the reason. Though I’ve always been an early riser, today is the first time in a while I’ve woken up feeling so refreshed and energized. The first couple of nights here, I jumped at every sound I thought I heard, imagining people crawling through the dark to get me until I’d wake up in a panic, and alone. But I’m starting to acclimate. A few days of doing nothing but resting was exactly what I needed.
Opening my door, I follow the flickering light of the television into the living room. Even before I spot him, I expect to find Valentine. He’s sprawled on the couch, looking almost casual without his jacket and tie, his cuffs and the neck of his shirt open.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, muting the television and standing up.
“No, I’m an early riser.”
“Sorry, too, about disappearing. We’ve had a couple of issues we needed to fix, but that’s done now.”
As Valentine trails his eyes from my bare toes up my body, taking his sweet time, I wonder if walking out in my silky sleep set was a good idea. I spin and make a dash for the kitchen, pretending I’m not turned on by his attention. In reality, it’s insane how responsive I am to nothing but a heated look from the Alpha.
“Is it okay if I make myself a coffee?” I call out on my way, needing space from him, as well as a distraction from overthinking every aspect of our relationship. Wait, no. Not relationship. Arrangement.
Except, Valentine apparently doesn’t want to give me space this morning; he’s already behind me on silent feet. I can feel his presence, but I misjudge how close he is, fooled by the way his scent irons out my worries. I twist around to see where he is, then make one of those embarrassingmeepsbecause he is so close I can see a freckle high up on his cheek.
“Holy shit!” I hold my hand to my chest.
Bad idea because the silky material is slippery against my skin, and it pulls tight, showcasing my aching nipples. Most people would look the other way, but Valentine doesn’t. The way he looks at them, with a hunger and longing to match my own, makes my nipples perk even more.
“About the other night,” he says abruptly, his eyes still not straying far, “and your comment about us having sex.”
Wait, I said that?
“You did.”
“And I just said that too?”
“You did. But we’ve got a problem,” Valentine says as he takes a step closer, looming over me.
“What?”
Another step, and I’m backed against the kitchen counter. He hooks a finger in the seam of my top and tugs it wide before smiling at me, half in a request for permission.
“I came to see you when I got back, and you were in the shower, but I wanted to thank you.”
“What for?” I ask, rising up on my tippy toes.
“For what you did with Claudia.”
“Oh, that was her name.”
Valentine chuckles, and I lose the last shred of hesitation when he lifts me up on the countertop. In truth, I jump up before he even starts.
“I think this is the best way to express my thanks and to prepare you for today, since we’re going out,” he murmurs, stepping closer.
