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Surprise flickered in his expression. “How did you know?”

Tracing the wet, hard contours of his chest, she smiled. “I know a lot of things.”

Two weeks and four days… But taking a few hours at dawn wouldn’t hurt.

They’d go to Galway in just a little bit, but first this time was for Oliver. The man had spent months in seclusion—he deserved to be celebrated.

By now, she knew his likes and dislikes well enough to know he wouldn’t want to mark the occasion with anything big or public. A morning quickie followed by chocolate cake and sex tonight sounded more his speed. Despite the stopover in Galway, she’d make today special. Especially after everything he’d been through.

“You’re up early today.”

He cupped her breasts, thumbs stroking through the sheer fabric. “Isn’t that lucky of me.”

“Very. We can kick this day off right.”

His hands found skin. “What do you propose?”

“I think you can guess what I’m proposing right now… and then later, I’ll bake you a cake.”

His face lit up. “Chocolate on chocolate?”

Ah, she’d been correct. “Mm-hmm. And steak for dinner, no matter what.”

If Galway helped point them in the right direction, they might not be making it back tonight. Either way, the man would get his chocolate cake and steak, even if she had to order it in or make it herself in whichever hotel they ended up.

“A woman after my own heart.”

The tender way he watched her made her stomach twist. Don’t let this go any further. At some point, it’ll be too painful to turn back.

Before she could think of something lighthearted to say, he reared up and took her mouth with his, hauling her against him. When he pulled back, his lopsided grin sent all sorts of warm feelings through her. He wasn’t averting his face from her now, wasn’t hiding a part of himself he thought flawed.

“Towel, off. Pajamas, off,” she demanded.

He laughed, lifting with her still in his arms, tossing the towel to the floor before stripping her of her clothes.

Skin to skin. Just how she liked it.

He ran his hands over her as though he couldn’t stop touching her—her calves, her butt, her breasts—as if he were memorizing her, filling his senses with her, knowing as well as she that this couldn’t last. He pulled her breasts into the electric heat of his mouth—gentle flicks, rough sucks—until she rocked against him with desperate little movements.

Pressing him back into the mattress, she ran her fingers down the ridges of his stomach. His appreciative murmur curled through her.

Taking him in her hand, she stroked downward—

He caught her wrist. Reaching into the nightstand, he handed her a condom.

“Birthday boy is impatient. But your wish is my command.” She rolled the condom over him and shifted, taking him in slowly. He filled her so completely she had to catch her breath.

When she began to move, his gaze held hers—focused, inescapable, like he was stripping her to parts.

Too much. It was too much. He was too intense. This was too—serious. It felt too real, like they could really have something. False promises.

Leaning closer, she licked across his mouth.

That did it.

With a laugh, he rolled them, careful of her as he took the reins. Moving in long, unhurried strokes, he watched her with horrifying tenderness, and she couldn’t pretend the same emotion hadn’t seeped into every part of her too. She tried to shut her eyes against it, but it was still there—in the way he kissed her, in his whispered words.

Pleasure curled, tightened, squeezed the breath from her lungs as she came around him. He drew out every last tremor before surging on—demanding more, giving more.