wrong ones. Even though they barely scratched the surface of all he felt for her.
* * *
She wasn’t going to listen to his orders not to say anything.
She might have put him through his paces, made him jump through a few hoops, but she wasn’t going to let him be the only one of them to take a risk.
He was changing, and hell, so was she.
“Brent!”
He stopped at the door. His hand gripped the knob. He turned to look at her. She read nervousness in his gaze, hope in his stance.
“I feel the same,” she said, her heart pounding hard against her chest, trying to leap to him.
With tonight cut off at the knees, now was so clearly not the time to dig deep and tunnel all through the past to the most broken parts of them. But she could start this way—by telling him that she was falling, too. Somehow they’d shifted from him trying to prove himself, to her wanting to show she was worthy of him, too. Worthy of all his affection, of his tender gestures, of his humor, and of his heart.
She knew him well. He was easy. He was simple in the best of ways. All he’d ever wanted was to know her. To understand her past, to help her, to be the one she could lean on. When they were together before, he’d struggled mightily with her need to keep some things buried. While she’d have to find a better time—when they had time—to serve up the story of how her life had capsized in a London hospital, she could give him this much tonight—these words, these feelings that had raced well beyond the physical and claimed a portion of her heart.
“I’m crazy for you, too,” she added.
Then she let him go, the sound of the door snapping closed sealing off the night. She’d replay it as she drifted off into bed. All of it. From the wow to the crazy for you, and every toe-curling, heart-beating, blood-pounding moment in between. Even their fight in the elevator. Because some things might change, but some would remain the same.
They were fire.
* * *
She woke up to a text message. A dirty, naughty one that sent a hot shiver through her body.
I can still taste you.
Then a sweet one. Text me when you wake up, sunshine. I have something for you.
She wrote back instantly. I’m up, and glad to hear you enjoyed your dessert last night.
As she pushed off the covers, his reply arrived. I could have you for dessert for every meal. Every snack. Every second of every day. You taste spectacular.
Then Brent texted her that she had an open tab at the Luxe spa to spend the day getting pampered. Massage, pedicure, hot stones, whatever it is that happens in spas that you like—it’s yours today. That sounded like a fantastic way to spend her Sunday, so she replied, You win. You’ve made it impossible not to like you again.
She hopped in the shower, luxuriating in the hot jets of the rainforest-style showerhead, and replaying the almost-sex with the man she’d wanted to marry. He could bring it. Oh hell, he could bring it every time. There was no B game from Brent Nichols. He fired on all cylinders all the time. A game only.
She turned off the spray, dried her body, reapplied lip gloss, and freshened her breath with the hotel toothpaste. She’d slipped back into last night’s dress when she heard a knock on the door.
When she opened it, she revised his grade. Make that A plus game—both in bed and in treating her like a queen.
Because, courtesy of Mr. Nichols, room service was delivering a bowl of fresh blueberries, a serving of steel-cut oatmeal, and a steaming pot of black coffee, one sugar on the side. Her favorite breakfast. Her heart grew wings and soared around the room like an animated bird.
A series of messages rained down on her screen, one right after the other.
The car service will be waiting for you as soon as you’re ready to head home.
No woman of mine is cabbing it after I come in her mouth.
Hard. Come hard.
Very hard.
Have I mentioned how absolutely divine your lips are?
Off to lunch. I trust your mood for Tuesday is going to be hot and bothered.
As she read them all, a rush of heat spread through her veins, remembering the night before when he’d ordered her to finish him off. She loved that commanding tone he’d used, just as