I lovea man who is as good as his word because when we wake, Sebastian’supfor anything, just as promised.
I sleepily moan and writhe against him.
The sun pierces the sheer drapes, bathing the room in a soft, golden light.
I sneak a peek at the man I’m lying on and catch my breath at his otherworldly beauty. His dark lashes and dark hair lie against tanned skin, and the strong planes of his face are enhanced by the stubble of his sharp jaw. His mouth is just the right amount of soft and molded. He’s both deeply pretty and deeply masculine, a combination rarely found in nature, even in the wilds of Hollywood.
It sucks when the man you’re in bed with is so much prettier than you.
And I’m afraid for my heart because I’ll be remembering this moment, last night, this entire long weekend, for the rest of my life.
I need to enjoy this for what it is. A beautiful experience fornow.
Sebastian’s eyes pop open, and I’m blinded by the azure blue of them.
He shifts into me restlessly.
“Em,” he says in a gruff rasp. “It wasn’t a dream.” His eyes are wide and so full of wonder that my chest squeezes.
Focus on the now. Now is enough.
“Not a dream,” I murmur. “And, by the way, I’m very rested this morning. In case you were wondering.”
“Hmmm, you seem perky.” He runs a hand against my breast, causing me to gasp and my nipple to strain. “But I need to investigate more thoroughly to be sure,” he rumbles, lifting the sheet.
Yes, I squeal to myself.
My phone alarm blares.
“Ignore that,” I cry. “I always set two alarms. This is just my first one, set for eight a.m. My second alarm is set for eight thirty. My appointment with Caitlin isn’t until ten.”
“Emma.” His hand halts on its path to my breast, which makes me want to whimper.
“Yes?”
“It’s nine thirty.”
“Noooo.” I really do whimper now. And swear.
A very rushed thirty minutes later, my heels clatter on the pathway to Lavender Hill House. It’s aptly named because it’s next to a lavender field, which looks like a sea of the softest purple.
Caitlin greets me in jeans and a casual black cropped concert T-shirt that showcases her colorful tattoos.
“Okay. Before we go any further, I have to tell you it’s not entirely my fault. I’ve been really busy. So I haven’t had much time,” she says shamefacedly. “And I’m not a naturally neatperson. I’m a total mess on the best of occasions, but I’m going through a terrible breakup, so I’m even worse. Please give me a chance and don’t judge me too harshly,” she says as she shuttles me into the living room.
I scan the space, my heartbeat increasing. There are boxes everywhere, stacked high, row upon row of them. Some open. Some not. Items are flung across every tastefully designed surface and cover the floor so you can’t even see the beautiful hardwood. Food boxes and wine bottles litter the glass coffee table. A guitar sits in a corner of the sofa.
It looks like a depressed teenager and a college fraternity have joined forces.
“Are the other rooms like this?” I ask, my voice shaking a bit.
“Yes,” she admits, biting her lips and looking at me nervously, like I might bolt. Or cry.
My smile widens. And widens. “Perfect. It’s just perfect,” I breathe.
Caitlin turns, startled. “You’re not going to desert me?”
“Are you kidding? An entire house like this? Ilovemy new career.”
