He smirks. “I want to celebrate with my . . . girlfriend?”
“That’s so high school,” I laugh.
Shaking his hand, he motions for me to take it.
“How do you plan on celebrating?” I ask, pressing my lips together.
He wiggles his brows.
“I think we managed to do that,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows back at him, “out here last time, didn’t we?”
“Last time was different.”
“Why?”
He grins. “Last time you weren’t mine.”
Swooning, I take his hand and let him lead me into the house.
The sensation of light wakes me up. It’s odd because my room has one small window that faces west, so there’s not a lot of sunlight in there. Especially in the morning.
Stretching, my arms brush over sheets that aren’t mine. They’re softer, silkier . . . nicer. My eyes flip open and land on a large painting of a city in the dark. It’s a black canvas with dots of white and pink and blue. You can make out the streets and mountain ranges. It’s gorgeous. It’s also not mine.
I roll over and face the bedside table. Graham’s watch and day planner sit there next to a blue lamp with a cream-colored shade.
Flopping back against the mound of pillows in his four-poster bed, I can’t help but giggle as everything from last night floods back. His declaration. His sweet smile. His delectable tongue.
Shivering, I burrow under the covers as I hear something in the hallway. It takes a few seconds for him to appear.
Wearing a pair of grey boxer briefs and nothing else, he carries a wooden tray and a big smile. “Morning,” he says. “I made you breakfast.”
Scents of bacon and pan
cakes drift through the air, blending with the smell of Graham. It’s a divine, heady combination.
I sit up and realize I’m naked. The air hits my nipples, causing them to form stiff peaks. Graham’s eyes go to them immediately.
“Don’t think about it,” I warn. “You have to feed me first.”
He grins, climbing in bed with me. “I don’t know what I love more. Seeing you in my bed in the morning or just seeing you naked.”
I swipe a slice of bacon off the tray and stick it in my mouth. “Perfect. Not too crispy, not too limp.”
“There’s nothing about me that’s limp.”
“True that.” I wipe the bacon around the plate, picking up the excess syrup. “This is the best way to eat it right here.”
I dangle it over my mouth in a very un-ladylike fashion.
“This explains so much,” he notes.
“Like what?”
“Like why there was syrup on the console of your car and why it smelled like bacon.”
“Sue me.” I open my mouth and begin to drop the bacon into it when a drizzle of the maple goodness misses my tongue and slides down my breast.
Graham is on me in a second, the bacon falling on the bed. I shriek, reaching for it, but he pins my hands above my head. His eyes burn with unbridled lust. “If I tell you to keep your hands here, will you listen?”