Fourteen.

Fourteen hours left of this perfect reality where I could have him whenever I wanted him, and it didn’t have to be secret, or dirty, using anger as our only form of foreplay.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asked, rolling me over so he hovered above me. His skin was hot and I wanted to take off my blouse, but I didn’t want him to move even an inch, for even a second.

“I like comedies,” I began. “There’s Clerks, but Tommy Boy, Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, Clue; things like that. But I would have to say my all-time favorite movie would probably be Rear Window.”

“Because of Jimmy Stewart or Grace Kelly?” he asked, bending to kiss a trail of fire up my neck.

“Both, but probably Grace Kelly.”

“I can see that. You have very Grace Kelly–like tendencies about you.” His hand came up and smoothed a piece of my hair that had come loose from my ponytail. “I hear Grace Kelly had a filthy mouth too,” he added.

“You love my filthy mouth.”

“True. But I like it better when it’s full,” he said, meaningful smirk in place.

“You know, if you would shut up once in a while you’d be damn near perfect.”

“But I’d be a silent panty ripper, which I think is a lot creepier than the angry-boss panty ripper.”

I dissolved into giggles under him and he dug a finger between my ribs, tickling.

“I know you love it,” he growled.

“Bennett?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “What do you do with them?”

He gave me a dark, teasing look. “I keep them somewhere safe.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Because you’ll try and take them back.”

“Why would I want them back? They’re all ruined.”

He grinned at me but didn’t answer.

“Why do you do that anyway?”

He studied me for a moment, obviously considering his answer. Finally, he lifted himself onto his elbow and moved his face to within inches of mine. “For the same reason you like it.”

With that, he stood up and pulled me with him into the bedroom.

Seventeen

I had experience with negotiations, holdouts, bargaining. Here I was in the unfamiliar position of having laid all my chips on the table, but when it came to Chloe, I didn’t care. I was all in.

“Are you looking forward to being home? You’ve been gone for almost three weeks.”

She shrugged, pulling my boxers down without ceremony and wrapping her warm hand around me with a familiarity that made me ache in new places. “I’ve had a nice time here, you know.”

I deliberated over each button of her blouse, kissing every inch of skin as it came into view. “How much time do we have to play before our flight?”

“Thirteen hours,” she said, without looking at a clock. The answer certainly came quickly, and from the way her skin felt when I slid two fingers inside her underwear, I didn’t think she was looking forward to leaving this hotel room anytime soon.

I tickled her thighs with my fingers, teased her tongue with mine, and rubbed myself against her leg until I could feel her arching toward me. Her legs slipped around my waist and she spread her hands against my chest as I reached down and pushed myself inside her, determined to make her come as many times as I could before the sun came up.

For me, there was nothing in the world but her slick skin and the soft air of her moans against my neck. Over and over I moved on her, mute with my need, lost in her. Her hips rolled with mine and her back shifted to press her breasts against me and I wanted to tell her, “This, what we have, is the most amazing thing I have ever felt. Do you feel it too?”

But I had no words. I had only instinct and desire and the taste of her on my tongue and the memory of her laugh ringing in my ears. I wanted to keep that sound playing over and over. I wanted to be everything for her: her lover and sparring partner and friend. In this bed, I could be everything.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said in a weird moment—on the verge of coming and holding onto me so tight I thought I might bruise. But I knew what she meant because it was painful to be filled so full of this longing and have no fucking idea how it would play out. I wanted her in a way that made me feel like every second I was sated and starving—and my brain didn’t know what to do with it. So instead of answering her or telling her what I thought we could do, I kissed her neck and put my fingers against the soft skin of her hip, and told her, “I don’t either, but I’m not ready to let it go yet.”

“It feels so good . . .” She whispered this against my throat and I groaned in quiet agony, patently unable to manage one articulate word in response.

I feared I would howl.

I kissed her.

I pushed her deeper into the mattress.

It went on forever, this splintering ecstasy. Her body rising to meet mine, her mouth wet and hungry, biting and sweet.

I woke up when my pillow was yanked out from under my head and Chloe mumbled something incoherent about spinach and hot dogs.

The woman was a sleep-talking, restless bed hog.

I ran a greedy hand over her ass before rolling to look at the clock. It was only a little after five in the morning, but I knew we had to get moving soon to make our eight o’clock flight. As much as I hated to leave our merry little den of sin, I hadn’t done any work here and was starting to feel increasingly guilty about the career I’d essentially neglected. For the past decade my career had been my life, and although I was growing more comfortable with the obliterating effect Chloe had on that balance, I had to retrieve my focus. It was time to get home, put on the Boss Hat, and start taking names.

The early morning sun filtered in and washed her pale skin a gray-blue light. She was curled on her side, facing me, her hair a dark tangle across the pillow behind her. Most of her face was now cuddled into my pillow.

I could understand her hesitance to decide how our relationship would work back in reality. The San Diego bubble had been amazing, in part because it lacked every aspect that made our relationship tricky to begin with: her job at Ryan Media, my role in the family business, her scholarship, our independently sharp attitudes. Although I wanted to push to define this thing between us and set expectations so that I could dive in headfirst, her approach—far more tentative—was probably the right one.

We hadn’t bothered to pull the blankets back on the bed after we’d worked them to the floor last night, and I took the chance to stare at her nude body. I could definitely get used to waking up with this woman in my bed.

But unfortunately, we didn’t have a leisurely morning ahead of us. I tried to wake her with my hand on her shoulder, then a kiss on her neck, and finally a hard pinch on her ass.

She reached out and smacked my arm hard before I’d even pulled it back. I wasn’t even sure she was awake. “Asshole.”

“We should get up and get going. We need to be at the airport in a little over an hour.”

Chloe rolled over and stared up at me, face lined with pillow creases and her eyes unfocused. She didn’t bother to cover her body like she had the first morning, but she wasn’t all smiles, either. “Okay,” she said. She sat up, drank some water, and kissed my shoulder before climbing out of bed.

I watched her naked body as she walked to the bathroom, but not once did she look back at me. I didn’t exactly need a morning quickie, but I wouldn’t have minded a little spooning, maybe some pillow talk.

Probably shouldn’t have pinched her ass, then.

She didn’t emerge, and after collecting my things, I knocked on the bathroom door. “I’m heading next door to shower and pack.”