Even her worst fears and my worst fuck-ups couldn’t destroythis.
“You’re mine, Maggie,” I whispered against her lips as she rode me slowly. She kissed my face and her hair drifted over me. She moaned as my heart pounded, hard and fast in mychest.
“Zane,” she gasped, clutching at my shoulders. “Yeah…”
“And I’myours.”
Her eyes metmine.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “That,too.”
“From now on,” I told her, gripping her chin to force her to hold my gaze and hear this, “you’re in my bed every night, naked. And when you’re not naked, you’re in those pink sweats ofyours.”
“Yeah?” She smiled. And when Maggie smiled… it fucking undid me. Especially when she was slowly riding my cock, bareback, while she did it. “You like my pinksweats…?”
“Yeah, babe.” I slid my hand under her dress and squeezed her ass cheek. “Easy access. I wantit.”
She laughed, that throaty, sexy laugh of hers. “Okay, Zane,” she whispered. “Whatever youwant…”
And for about the millionth time in my life, I fell in love with her… just a little bitmore.
Chapter Twenty-One
Maggie
The next morning,Zane bounced out of bed early—before my eyes were open—and I actually heard him singing in the shower. He didn’t even try to get laidfirst.
I’d never heard him sing in the shower before, but then again I wasn’t nearby for many of his showers, historically. Maybe he did this all the time? Hewasa singer, and he sounded pretty damn happy doingit.
And it wasloud.
As I lay in bed, half-awake, he belted out “We Are The Champions” and hotel guests could probably hear it three roomsover.
I smiled to myself and cuddled into the pillow that smelled of him, my eyes stillclosed.
A little while later, I woke up again as Zane came out of the bathroom all refreshed and sparkling, smelling like freshly-showered rock god and delicious spiced bodywash. His damp blond hair was slicked back, a smile was on his face, and he was singing Paul McCartney’s “Maybe I’m Amazed” under his breath. I didn’t think he’d even noticed I was awake as I looked himover.
His faded jeans hung low on his hips but, unfortunately, he was wearing a shirt. It was a T-shirt with the sleeves and sides cut out though, so I could see his ribcage and waist, his sleek muscles shifting as hemoved.
Yum.Would I ever get tired of gazing athim?
Nope. Notpossible.
He strolled over to the couch, which I could see through the open doorway from the bedroom, and sprawled on it, picking up the room service menu. His eyes met mine and he stopped singing, that killer Viking smile of his splitting hisface.
I smiledback.
“What do you want for breakfast,babe?”
I stretched lazily. “Whatever you’re having. With some fruit on it.” I dragged my ass out of bed and his gaze darkened, sliding down my naked body. I flung on a robe half-heartedly and wandered to the bathroom, yawning. “And whatever they have that’s chocolate. Lots ofit.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me, but the grin never left hisface.
I half-expected him to follow me into the shower. Okay, three-quarters-expected. But notso.
When I reemerged about forty-five minutes later, my hair washed, dried and smoothed straight and makeup on, he had our breakfast all set up on the coffee table, the fake fire glowing in the fireplace and real candles lit. And freshflowers.
I stopped to admire the pretty, all-pink arrangement, a mix of tulips, frilly carnations, miniature roses, alstroemeria and other stuff I didn’t evenrecognize.
