Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

I feel a rumble in Aaron’s chest, realizing it’s him chuckling, and I vaguely recognize the sensation of his lips pressing into the top of my head.

Then he’s gone, a startling chill left where his body was, and I’m fully awake. I sit partially up in the bed—naked, of course—and press an elbow into the mattress. Rubbing at my eyes, I hastily reach over to the nightstand to put my glasses on so I can clearly see Aaron’s gorgeous naked backside walking from the bed toward the door. He nabs a bathrobe from the closet as he passes, and I frown as his body is covered.

Oh, God… I’ve turned into a certifiable sex fiend, and it’s all his fault.

I stretch as Aaron answers the door, noting he doesn’t open it very far to afford me privacy, but I still pull the sheet up and over me. I give a stretch, feeling all the ways in which my body is sore from our all-night lovemaking.

Aaron murmurs something to the person on the other side and I flop back down onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. When Aaron comes back to bed, I wonder what would happen if I made a move on him.

I’ve never done that before, as he’s always the first to initiate.

Would he be receptive?

Would he be too tired?

Would he think I’m loose and amoral?

I snicker at that last thought. I’ve come to know Aaron pretty well over the last few weeks we’ve spent time together, and I’m pretty sure he’d welcome an advance from me.

I think I’ll do it.

But shit… should I get up and brush my teeth? Plus, I have to pee. While I’m getting more at ease being naked in front of him, would it look weird for me to get up and jet quickly into the bathroom?

The sound of the door closing has my head popping off the pillow and Aaron strides back to the bed. In his hands is a picnic basket with a card on top.

“What’s that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “No clue. It was just delivered, and we were told to open it immediately.”

I scramble up in the bed, bringing the sheet with me to cover my breasts. Aaron places a knee to the mattress, then climbs in beside me. I try to ignore the way the robe parts, giving me a peek of golden chest above and his magnificent endowment down below.

He smiles. “You look so cute in the morning with your hair all messed up and those glasses on.”

I roll my eyes, scooting in closer to him, then nod at the envelope. “Open it up.”

The envelope is square, white, and secured through a hole in the corner via a pretty yellow ribbon tied to the handle of the picnic basket. He removes it, opens the flap, and pulls out a thick piece of cardstock with a handwritten note.

Dear Aaron and Clarke,

Please join us at the seaside bluff overlooking Caneel Bay at ten sharp for a very special gathering of friends. Until then, enjoy breakfast on us, which is provided in the basket.

See you at ten.

Love,

Tacker and Nora

“Screw that,” Aaron mutters, tossing the card over his shoulder and setting the basket on the floor. Whipping my way, he pounces on me. Burying his face into my neck and pushing the sheet off my body, he murmurs in a way that makes my entire body melt, “I love my friends and all, but I’d rather spend all morning in bed with you.”

I laugh, broken by a thoroughly horrid giggle as his stubble tickles my neck, and let my fingers dive in. His mouth feels good, and I know how very much he likes to use his mouth on me everywhere.

But a thought strikes me. “You don’t think this is something more meaningful than just a gathering of friends, do you?”

Aaron lifts his head with a frown. “Like what?”

“Like,” I drawl with a slight shrug. “It seems wedding fever is sort of in the air with you Vengeance people. Maybe they decided to just get married.”

“They’re not even engaged,” he replies, his frown deepening.

I give him a slight punch to the shoulder, accompanied with a smirk. “For someone who preaches about spontaneity all the time, you don’t seem to understand it yourself. You don’t have to be engaged to get married, you dork. You can just decide to go for it.”

Aaron considers this for a thoughtful moment, then shakes his head in vigorous denial. “No way. They’ve only been together for like… four months.”

“So?” I reply blandly. “My parents dated less than two months before they got married.”

His gaze goes a little fuzzy as he considers this, but then he refocuses. “No. Just no way. Tacker’s got too much wedding baggage to do something like this so suddenly.”

My chin pulls inward with confusion. “Wedding baggage?”