Page 59 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

“I’m describing it wrong. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been very adventurous in the bedroom, but you make me want to be a bold woman. A femme fatale. You’re so confident, I feel comfortable exploring my limits.”

Suddenly, he wanted to come so badly his eyes crossed. “Your limits?” The two words came out barely audible.

“Yes,” she said, sinking her fingernails into his shoulders. “Teach me, Obi-Wan.”

That was it. He was gone. He crashed over the proverbial cliff, groaned and whispered her name as he came.

When he could breathe, he rolled to his hip, slid a hand between her legs and gave Daley the last little bit she needed to join him. She cried out and arched her back as she climaxed, her soft moan telling him everything he needed to know.

Exhaustion claimed him. He dragged her close, spooned her and fell asleep.

Daley had consumed too much late-in-the-evening champagne without food. Her stomach rumbled even as her heart sang. She’d broached a future with Tristan, and he hadn’t freaked out. That was progress. Right?

She wanted to close her eyes and fade out. Having him hold her like this was blissful. But she needed to pee, and she wanted a snack.

Tristan was deeply asleep. His arm was a deadweight around her waist.

Even so, inch by careful inch, she extricated herself without waking him. She used the bathroom, freshened up and found a terry robe on the back of a door.

The navy robe smelled liked Tristan. She bundled up in it, feeling the chill of the AC as she tiptoed out of the bedroom. Fortunately, she knew her way to the kitchen.

She didn’t bother turning on a light. When she opened the refrigerator and peered inside, she found half a carton of fresh blueberries and a slab of cheddar cheese with a gourmet shop label. That would do.

On the counter, there was a loaf of homemade wheat bread. She paused a moment to wonder who supplied Tristan with such a treat. But then Daley reminded herself he had taken her home. There was no point being jealous of a man like Tristan Hamilton.

Either she believed he wanted her, or she didn’t.

Judging by the last hour, he did.

She shivered, remembering all the ways he touched her. As if he couldn’t get enough. And he’d admitted to having feelings for her. She suspected that was huge. Hearing him speak those words had been astonishing.

Her heart burst with hope and anticipation even as her brain told her to be cautious. This thing with Tristan was tenuous. Fragile. Maybe something would come of it and maybe not. She needed to protect herself.

When she opened a cabinet to find a plastic tumbler for water, a voice behind her startled her badly.

“Daley...”

She whirled around, her hand at her chest. “Don’t do that,” she cried. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, love.” He put his arms around her waist and slanted his mouth over hers for a long, thorough kiss. “I woke up and you were gone.”

He wore nothing but snug black nylon briefs—which served the purpose of thoroughly distracting her. But she gathered her composure, barely. “I was hungry,” she said. “Dinner was a long time ago.”

Tristan glanced past her to the blueberries and cheese. “I think we can do better than that. How do bacon and eggs sound?”

“You cook?”

He pinched her cheek, grinning. “I do a lot of things you haven’t seen yet. Why don’t you have a seat at the bar and talk to me while I get everything ready.”

“You don’t want me to help?”

“I can’t concentrate if you’re too close.”

The words were funny and sweet, but she debated their sincerity. Was there a standard script that men like Tristan used for romantic evenings? Had he cooked for a long line of women in his life?

Her own thoughts bothered her. If she didn’t have confidence in this relationship, even on a superficial level, she was going to destroy things before they even got started.

She perched on a barstool and leaned her elbows on the counter, chin on her hands. It was fun watching her lover range around his own kitchen with purpose. He was clearly comfortable. His body flexed and moved with masculine grace. He was at the peak of his physical prowess. Sleek muscles. A taut frame. Not an ounce of excess weight anywhere. She knew he worked out.

---