Ruthless Rival

Then I pull back. Retie my robe. Help him up.

He pushes his clothes aside, takes my hand, leads me to the dresser, pulls the top drawer open.

"Pajamas." He points to the folded purple silk short set. "If you don't want to sleep naked."

If I want to stay the night.

If I want to stay in his life.

He doesn't say it, but it's there in his words, his actions, his posture.

"Something for tomorrow." He points to a simple black sundress. Comfortable and neutral enough, I won't look ridiculous in my heels. "There are shoes in the closet."

"There are?"

"Lee said you have the same pair at home."

"You asked?"

"She volunteered."

"After I came home in my dress?"

He nods. "I liked the idea of it. You, wearing the dress you were wearing when you came on my hand. But I understand it's impractical."

It sounds sexy that way. Not thoughtless or inconsiderate.

And with an entire outfit, I can stay longer.

All day, if I want.

"Do you want the first shower?" he asks.

"No. Join me."

He does.

The bathroom is as nice as the rest of the house. And it's Simon. A massive glass slower, marble floors, stainless steel accessories.

Plenty of space for both of us.

But we stay pressed together as we soap and rinse and kiss and touch.

After, I dry and dress in the purple silk pajamas, I crawl into his bed and fall asleep in his arms.

In his bed.

In his life.

Chapter Thirty-One

SIMON

Vanessa Moyer is in my bed.

A million fantasies in the flesh.

She's every bit as grand as she is in my head.

Grander, even.

But she's not a fantasy or a fairy tale.

She's a woman with her own scars.

And she trusts me with them.

Is this why Bash spoke of love poetically?

For once, I understand.

For once, I don't want to roll my eyes at his insistence on calling sex making love.

We are creating love, bringing more into the universe.

I've said the word before, but I've never felt it. I thought there was something wrong with me. That I was somehow incapable of feeling love. Understanding what it was.

If I enjoyed a woman's company, wanted a physical connection, wished for a happy future for her—

That's how people described love.

So I said the words, even though I didn't feel them.

My heart didn't thud. My stomach didn't flutter. My body didn't fill with warmth at the sight of her smile.

Just thinking of Vanessa's laugh—

Maybe I am in love with her.

Maybe this is how it looks.

I don't have her fucked-up history, but I have my own.

Love is dangerous.

Vanessa knows that. She'll understand if I explain.

But how the fuck can I tell her this?

I don't know.

But I owe it to her to try.

I want to trust her with my secrets.

And be the person she trusts to carry her burdens.

Soon.

There isn't a rush. I understand that, practically, but emotionally?

I want all of her, all at once.

But I can't rush her. Not after last night.

So I roll to my side, and I watch her sleep. I watch her chest rise with her inhale. I watch the morning light fall over her dark skin. Watch her purple pajamas shift with her exhale.

She's beautiful in the morning light.

Here. In my bed. In my life.

I savor the sight of her for one more moment, then I rise, wash, leave her sleeping.

Opal is in the kitchen, pouring coconut milk into a cup of coffee. She loves her drinks sweet and creamy.

She looks up from her mug. Takes in my outfit. "Are those silk pajamas?"

"Yes."

"You really slept in them?"

"No."

"Oh. Gross, Simon."

"You asked."

"Still." She smiles, not at all bothered, pours a cup of black coffee into my Hello Gorgeous mug, hands it to me. "How was it?"

"Could you hear?"

"Hear Danielle's sex playlist, yeah. I've heard it before." Her nose scrunches. "That's weird. Two family members with the same sex playlist. Three, I guess, since I heard it at Liam's place."

"What should I play?"

"Nine Inch Nails. No. Never mind. When I said that to Liam—"

"He said he had a nine-inch something?"

"Gross."

"And I'm going to say the same thing?" I ask.

"No. Maybe. I don't know anymore."

"You don't?"

She nods of course not, sips her coffee, slides onto a stool. "How was it?"

"Private."

"That bad?" She shakes her head too bad and takes another sip.

"That won't work."

"Are you sure?"

"I thought we were too obsessed with sex," I say.

"You are."

"Then why are you asking?"

"You've spread your diseases."

I can't help but chuckle.

"It was good, wasn't it?" She takes a long sip. "Really good."

"It was."

"You like her?"

"I do."

"Love her?"

I don't say no immediately. I don't know what to say. "It's new."

"Love isn't on a time line."

"I care about her."

"No, Simon, no. Care is a slap in the face. Don't even think about telling her that."

"What should I tell her?"

"That you love her."

"What if I don't love her yet?"

"Irrelevant question. You're totally into her." She draws a line around my head in the air. "It's all over your face."