In a move that felt oddly natural, considering it had never happened before, I flipped over onto my side, and flung a slender arm over his chest as I rested my cheek upon his smooth skin.
There was a slight hitch in his breathing, and his skin heated just at the touch. But we didn’t kiss. Didn’t move. At that point, we didn’t even speak.
We simply fell asleep. Lying in each other’s arms.
And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, all was right in the world. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, I could honestly say that I’d never been happier...
Chapter 7
I GOT UP EARLY THE next morning. Earlier than even Nick—who always beat me to go on one of his insufferable runs. (The man had learned long ago that getting out the door by five a.m. was a sure-fire way to avoid the press.)
We hadn’t moved an inch in the night, and I was still sprawled out across his chest when I woke up, snuggled safely beneath his arm. His body warmed mine, and for a moment, I simply gazed up at him—hypnotically lulled by the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
He looked so much younger when he slept. Less troubled, somehow. Although the Nick I’d come to know didn’t usually have a care in the world. His face was perfectly relaxed, not a line in sight, and his messy golden-brown hair spilled haphazardly across his forehead.
Still, it was easy to see how such a face could brighten into a smile. And knowing him as well as I did, it was easy to see the mischief lurking just below the surface.
Moving as carefully as I could, I lifted his arm a few inches so that I could slip underneath. For good measure, I replaced my body with a pillow—which he immediately clutched against his chest. Like a kid with his teddy.
Adorable. How had I never realized that Nick Hunter was utterly fucking adorable?
After groping blindly in the darkened closet to find some clothes, I slipped on a bathrobe and headed downstairs to fire up the coffee. My bare feet made hardly a sound as they skimmed over the checkered marble, and as I hopped up onto the counter—waiting with an empty mug—I was surprised to realize how normal this all felt.
Not being in Nick’s kitchen—over the last two years, I had come here all the time. But waking up in Nick’s apartment. Padding barefoot down the stairs. Swinging my legs against the counter as I peered out over the early Manhattan skyline.
I had to hand it to him. The city was beautiful at this time of day. Peaceful. Undisturbed. I was hardly ever awake to see it, but I could easily imagine how someone could grow attached to the unnatural quiet. To that charged anticipation—waiting for a sleeping giant to come to life, with no idea what wonders might happen that day.
Then I noticed the hand-prints streaked down the glass.
A burning blush colored my cheeks, and I glanced guiltily around the empty room before hopping down to wipe it clean with fistfuls of my robe. While I was at it, I glanced down again for good measure—trying to gauge ‘pedestrian visibility’ whist not under sexual duress.
Yeah—people could definitely see us. They might not be able to make out any details, but they could tell what was going on.
And that’s how Abigail Wilder became a Manhattan exhibitionist...
Determined to put the thought forever from my mind, I poured myself a cup of espresso and wandered into the living room to clean up my room service from the night before.
Except...there wasn’t anything there.
I paced around the hot tub with a slight frown, searching for the remnants of my little feast. I’d been too heat-drunk and tired last night to do anything about them, but they were definitely there when I’d left. The tray was still there, so housekeeping hadn’t been back yet...
Which means that Nick cleaned it.
I stopped in my tracks, profoundly touched by the little act of kindness.
Nick was no stranger to grand gestures or extravagant gifts. The Christmas bonuses he gleefully doled out at the end of each holiday season provided my food budget for the next twelve months. At least once a year, he delighted in sending his staff to the far corners of the globe on glorious vacations. One time, he had even gone so far as to call up the Chief of Police just to get me out of a parking ticket on my birthday.
But this? Throwing away my takeout bins? Cleaning up my dinner?
This was different. This was personal. And to be honest, it almost mattered more to me because it was small. Because there was no reason in the world for him to have done it—the man had people for that. And yet, he did it anyway. Making it just...incredibly sweet.
My eyes flickered up the stairs with a tender smile, before I headed down the hall to one of the guest bathrooms to begin getting ready for my day. I had spent long enough cooped up in this beautiful apartment. The outside world beckoned, and I needed to touch back in with reality.
The outfit was a standard work dress. Nice, but not too flashy. Expensive, but the kind of expensive that still let you pay the bills afterward. The kind of clothes worn by New York’s business professionals.
Because that’s still you, Abby. Even if you did wake-up with a trillion dollar view of Fifth Avenue in the arms of the world’s most coveted man.
I paired the dress—a fitted wrap in slate grey—with some silver tear-drop earrings, lethal looking stilettos, and just enough makeup to make it look like I didn’t even try.