Page 20 of Wes

I drag my eyes up his taut navel and cut chest until they get to his full lips and stunned gaze.

With a deep frown, he murmurs, “You serious right now? I thought after what we shared last –”

“Last night was great,” I cut him off, raising a palm to stop his arguments. “But we had an agreement.”

I lift my chin, praying he buys into my act even as my body wakes up and aftershocks from last night vibrate through every one of my muscles. I soldier on when he cups my cheek.

Shaking his head, he whispers, “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” His thumb dusts my face. I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from cuddling my cheek against the warmth of his palm. He adds, “I want to revisit the terms of our agreement.”

He brings his lips to mine without touching them. His heat melts my heart, bones, and resolve.

I put on a brave face. “No can do.”

His eyes search mine for a heartbeat before he drops them and scoots over to the edge of the bed. With deliberate movements and without another word, the sexy drummer of Muse of Darkness leaves my bedroom. I hold my breath and prick my ears as the faint rustle of fabric indicates he’s getting dressed.

When the click of the front door echoes in the empty suite, I tumble over the pillows, howling my frustration into them.

* * *

Kneeling on my bed, I glance down and gasp at the sinful view. Wes keeps his eyes shut as he chugs on my juices. I sway back and forth, digging my nails into his shoulders for support, dropping my head over my shoulders as ecstasy takes over my senses.

I shriek, “Wes!”

My cries of pleasure drown out the alarm clock until they don’t. My eyelids fly open as I sit upright against the headboard and glance around to find my bearings. Through the navy-blue curtains of my bay window, the rays of the San Francisco sun play on the off-white surface of the dresser.

“For fuck’s sake, when will this stop?” I moan, rolling my eyes to stare at the ceiling where sunshine draws abstract patterns.

Dropping my gaze to my fingers, I confirm they’re drenched although the quivering in my sex has begun to subside. My routine for the past three weeks since I returned from Brazil has been the same. I go to sleep fighting memories of a certain rock star’s perfect body only to fall into temptation in my dreams and wake up to mind-blowing orgasms.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I groan, hitting the off button on the alarm clock radio, which has switched from buzzing to a random station where a hit by Muse of Darkness is blasting.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and drag my feet to the bathroom, mumbling as I go, “Hey, Universe, can I go one day without Wes’s freaking songs popping up out of nowhere and breaking my heart? Is it too much to ask?” I stare at the dark shadows under my eyes in the mirror. My stomach sinks. “I don’t think so. Oh, while you’re at it, please erase the sensory memory of his fucking touch, will you? I can’t go on like this.”

As usual, the Universe ignores my pleas and I have to struggle with the phantom presence of Wes Baron through my morning shower, meditation, and breakfast.

By the time I get to Welcoming Hills, I feel like myself again. At least, the current version of me – a little distracted and a lot flustered.

“Good morning, Trish,” I greet my assistant as I walk past her desk, offering her a wide smile.

“Thought you’d need this,” the twenty-five-year-old brunette grins back at me, stretching a hand holding a piping hot mug of coffee.

“You know me so well,” I accept the beverage as she follows me inside my office.

We take our seats on opposite sides of my mahogany desk and I cuddle the green mug in my hands, sniffing the rich aroma since the precious liquid is too hot. With a deep sigh of contentment, I log into my computer.

As it loads, I glance at Trish. She’s squirming on the leather seat and tapping her pen on her note pad.

“Why are you acting so weird?” I knit my eyebrows. What’s going on?”

“Guess you haven’t checked emails on your phone this morning.” Trish’s reply does nothing to reassure me.

“No,” I elongate the one-syllable word. My heart thuds as blood rushes to my cheeks. I won’t confess to my personal assistant that I was too busy fighting memories to focus on anything else. Instead, I give her a half-truth. “I got up late, so I didn’t have time.”

“I don’t want to influence you with my opinion, so read it and let me know what you think.”

A freezing, invisible mist wraps around me as I scan a message from Voss & Berkfield, a conglomerate that owns the building that houses Welcoming Hills. For the past year, the greedy business has been buying property around us. Now I understand why.

“Fuck! Fuck!” I pound my fist on the wooden surface to let some of my frustration out as my soul shatters. “We have thirty days, aka the first week of September, to move out. They’re tearing down the whole fucking block to build their new headquarters.”

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