Page 56 of Love You Anyway

Then he’s inside me again, moving at a languid, seductive pace. “You’re a goddamn drug, PJ. I can’t get enough.”

My garbled half agreement is all I can come up with becauseheis a drug, and I’m already craving days and weeks of him.

I wrap my legs around him, and he groans, still moving slowly, deliberately. And like the orgasm-drunk groupie I apparently am, my body responds to every shift in his movement.

“God, PJ…”

“I know. It’s…I can’t even…”

He laughs at my inability to articulate a thought, but soon he’s grunting one-syllable nonsense and moaning my name.

I come undone beneath him in waves as he’s biting out a curse.

The two of us lie there, chests heaving, bodies glazed with sweat, until our breathing starts to slow.

Completely spent, I lie with my head on the pillow as Colin rolls to my side and tips my chin up to kiss me. All I can think about is a way to make tonight even better.

“Hey,” I say, staring into Colin’s eyes. “Would you be up for a grilled cheese sandwich?”

This could go one of two ways—Colin could think my post-sex snack idea is ridiculous, and I’d have to accept that we have our differences. Or he could think I’m a genius, and I’ll have another reason to fall for the guy.

He laughs, and I feel grateful—and a little nervous—that he’s chosen door number two.

Being the youngest kid, I learned to make easy dinners for myself when my siblings were at sports practices or out with friends, and I was left hanging with only our nanny for company. Grilled cheese has always been a personal favorite, and I see no reason to stop eating it just because I’m an adult.

Fortunately, Colin seems to like my version, which features shredded cheese on the outside of the bread, fried in butter. Sitting on a stool in my kitchen in only boxers, he is in the middle of eating his second one.

“So you’re a hot scientist with a brilliant mind and a sinfully gorgeous face. How are you not dating a model or something?And don’t tell me that tall, attractive women aren’t your type because then I’ll know you’re lying.”

I’d been wondering about this since the day we met, and none of the articles I’d scrounged up about his personal life told me anything. I wasn't about to ask my brother.

“They’re not.”

I hold a scolding finger up. “Stop. I said not to lie.”

“I’m not lying. I never thought I had a type.” He leans back and looks me over from head to toe. The heat of his gaze spills over every part of me, setting me on fire. How does he do that with just a look?

Colin’s voice is a lust-charged growl. “But now, I’d have to say that curvy, smart-mouthed, unspeakably sexy women are my type.” He dips his head toward mine as though he needs to tell me a secret no one else can hear. Only there’s no one anywhere near us. “And you just blew that type out of the water because I’ve never seen anyone sexier.”

I’m not expecting the compliment, and it makes me blush. I swear, I spend most of my time around Colin sporting a shade of red on my face that’s somewhere between a ripe strawberry and a beet.

“Okay, um…” I try to feign a bit of chill, but I have none. He watches the scarlet crawl across my face, and a wicked smile forms as I open my mouth and close it again because I’m tongue-tied.

He reaches over, cups my cheek in his hand, and plants the softest kiss on my lips. “I don’t know what other sinful scientists do, and I don’t really care. You are my type, and I want to be with you.”

“Well, lucky me, being here right when you decide to hide out from your life.”

“No. Lucky me.” His gaze is soft.

“So explain it to me. What is your life like exactly?”

I don’t mean to sound so naive. My family has made a good living in the wine business, but most of the family wealth is reinvested back into the company.

“Probably not all that different from yours.” He stares out at the acres of vineyards I look at each day, and the muscles in his face relax. I’ve seen it happen to hundreds of people who come to spend the afternoon at the vineyard. Something about being under a cloudless sky in the fresh air and breathing in the scent of grapes ripening on vines extracts every ounce of stress like a French press coffee maker. All that is left is gratitude for the setting.

“Actually, it’s really fucking different,” he amends. “First of all, I stare at the white walls of an office building all day. This—this is magical."

“It is. I never take it for granted. When I was in college, I had jobs around campus at food service places, and I hated it. Not the work itself, but the lack of windows that could open.”

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