Page 47 of Boiling Point
God help me, she was beautiful.
She blinked once, twice, then looked at me through sleep-heavy lashes. “You’re awake.”
“I am,” I said, voice lower than I’d intended. I stepped closer, leaning against the bureau as she stretched. “Still half convinced I’m dreaming. Thought I’d wake up alone and heartbroken.”
She gave me a slow, languid smile. “Are you always such a tragic romantic first thing in the morning?”
“You have no idea.” I sat beside her and placed the glass of water on the nightstand. “How are you feeling?”
She rolled onto her back, tugging the sheet to cover herself. “A little sore. But smug.”
“Oh?” I leaned down to kiss her bare shoulder. “Why smug?”
She turned to me with a smirk. “Because I’m the one who got the grand tour.”
I groaned, half laughing as I buried my face in the crook of her neck. “That line is going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said sweetly, brushing her fingers through my hair.
“Mmm.” Eyes closed, I leaned into her touch. “I feel like a pampered house cat.”
“A house cat?”
“Not even a cool one,” I added, looking up at her. “One of the fluffy ones with no survival instincts.”
She laughed—head thrown back, hair tumbling over the pillows like sun-drenched silk—and it hit me again, full force: I didn’t regret this. Not even a little.
And that should’ve terrified me.
But all I could think about was how long I could keep her in this bed before life made me let her go. Before the world reminded us why we couldn’t stay.
She let out a sigh, soft and reluctant, and rolled to her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “If I don’t get up soon, I’ll never leave.”
“Then don’t.”
She blinked at me, caught off guard for half a second—then gave a quiet smile. “Tempting. But I need coffee.”
I leaned closer, brushing a kiss against her shoulder. “I can do coffee. Somewhere between good and excellent, depending how awake I am when I make it.”
She laughed under her breath, then stretched, catlike and unhurried. “Shower first.”
“I could be persuaded to join you,” I said, brushing my knuckles down the bare line of her spine.
She tilted her head, amused. “You offering help, or just hoping for an encore?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”
“Cute. But that wasn’t a yes or no question.”
I sat back just enough to meet her eyes. “Yes to both. I’m excellent with soap and shampoo.” I slid my hand beneath the sheet, wrapping around to graze the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. “And I remember precisely how you like to be touched…”
Her breath caught. Her resolve wavered, just for a moment, before she laughed and pushed at my chest. “Shameless man. I’ll never get out of here, will I?”
“Not if I have any say in the matter.” I kissed her shoulder again, then nudged the sheet down to expose a milky, sumptuous breast. “Shall I remind you”—I grazed my teeth across her nipple—“of all the ways you like to be touched?”
The soft sound she made was somewhere between a groan and a sigh as she fell back against the pillows, surrendering. “God, yes.”
I smirked. “And we’re back to worship.”
