Page 21 of The Unexpected

He shakes his head, stroking my hair. “I thought you were some kind of party girl though. You certainly give that impression.”

I laugh, muffled by his skin. “That’s just a schtick. The short skirts, the sexy talk, the naughty innuendos. Makes people think I have it together.”

He considers this. “So who’s the real you, Stella?”

I think about it. “I don’t know yet. But I liked this.”

He kisses the top of my head. “So did I.”

We lie there until the lamp goes out, the room plunged into true dark.

The next morning is a mess of contradictions: the warmth of the sun on my face, the stickiness between my thighs, the way my whole body aches in a way I never knew was possible. I wake before Hunter, which is a surprise—I thought billionaires were programmed to rise with the stock market. He lies sprawled on his back, arm draped over his eyes, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

He’s gorgeous, his lashes so long they look almost feminine, a contrast against the strong angle of his cheekbones. He’s bold and masculine all over, with bronzed skin and heavy, slab-like pecs.

I slip out of bed, legs trembling a little, and tiptoe to the bathroom. My reflection is a disaster: hair everywhere, skin flushed and marked with faint bruises where Hunter grabbed too hard. I touch the inside of my thigh and wince, but the pain is good, like a secret trophy.

I pee, then stare at myself in the mirror for a long minute. I look older, somehow, or maybe just more real. I brush my hair, wash my face, and when I come back to the bedroom, Hunter is awake, sitting up with the sheet pooled around his waist. He looks like a god, the white sheets only emphasizing his deep tan.

He watches me cross the room, his eyes lazy, pleased.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” I reply, feeling suddenly shy.

He stretches, and I catch a glimpse of his cock, soft now but still impressive.

“Come here,” he says, crooking a finger.

I obey, climbing onto the bed. He pulls me into his lap, hands settling on my hips.

“Still want to do the pastor thing?” he asks, nuzzling my ear.

I nod. “More than ever, seeing what we just did.”

He laughs. “That was a hell of a first night.”

“I was surprised you went gentle,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “That was gentle?”

I roll my eyes, then bury my face in his neck. “You could have gone harder.”

He smirks. “Duly noted.”

We sit like that, wrapped in each other, until the sun is high enough to make the dust motes shimmer in the air. The rest of the world doesn’t exist. Not the coming day, not the awkwardness of what we are, not the fact that at some point, one of us is going to have to call my dad.

It’s not until we’re in the kitchen, wolfing down cold leftovers, that Hunter brings up Pastor O’Toole again.

“So, this pastor dude. Have you met him before?”

I shake my head, stabbing a fork into a cold asparagus spear. “Assistant pastor, actually. And no. I’ve only met Pamela before, but I guess she’s too busy for us. But I thought he was cool, based on our one time talking to him.”

Hunter leans back, crossing his arms. “Do you think he’s good looking?”

I choke on the asparagus, surprised. “What?”

“You heard me. Do you think Pastor O’Toole is good-looking?”