Page 151 of Billion Dollar Mistake

“Wow. You really are excited to have me here.”

“You have no idea.”

“I think the amount of red roses in your house tells me you're obsessed.”

“Damn straight, baby.”

“Good. Because I’m so obsessed with you too. But I think you bought the whole city’s supply of red roses.”

“I definitely cleaned out a few florists.”

He pauses next to his sofa and as soon as I can I stand, I kiss him. This time I hold him so close and don’t stop kissing him until I need air.

“Come sit, we have all night for that.”

A grumble leaves me at his all-night comment.

I’ve missed him.

“Right now I need to hold you in my arms alone here.”

“I can do that,” I say with a smile.

“The physio is set to come after lunch today.”

“Thanks,” I say. I’m not looking forward to the session, but I know every session will bring me closer to healing.

We take a seat on the sofa.

He sits with his legs apart and he drags my body between his. I recline into his body, welcoming his arm that snakes around my waist pulling me closer.

“What did you want to watch?” he asks as we flick through the channels.

I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m too tired. So I say, “Anything.”

He kisses the top of my head. The love and warmth he surrounds me with makes it hard to resist sleep. Eventually my eyes flutter and my heavy lids close.

A few hours later, I stretch, and a stupidly happy smile spreads across my face as I remember he’s here with me.

“Did you nap too?”

“You made it impossible not to.”

“Oh baby, are you sad?”

“No, I've barely slept in a week, so I enjoyed your body wrapped in mine.”

I smile. Knowing exactly what he means, because I too have missed him, and I haven’t been awake to see him in a hospital bed looking like death.

I’m glad I wasn’t able to see the state I was in. Seeing myself in the mirror the first time I showered was enough.

And a part of me worries he won’t look at me the way he used to when he sees the bruising, scars and damage from the accident.

I want him to be rough with me, the first time we do it again. I don’t want pity eyes; I want the loving eyes of the man who wants to eat me alive, making every whimper and moan sound like ecstasy to him. Yeah, I need that man. This tender one is nice, and I crave this part of him, but when we’re together, I don’t want nice.

“What are you thinking about?”

I tilt my head back to look into his eyes. The little wrinkle between his brows lets me know that he’s aware I’ve been quietly thinking the last few minutes.

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