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He looks down at me. Plants a kiss on my forehead, and then goes back to resting his eyes. “Yeah, I guess you did.”
I can’t help but celebrate inwardly. Though I feel a tad stupid. I shouldn’t care so much. Or believe him so easily.
But I do.
And as I watch him, contemplating, reveling, my own eyes start to feel heavy.
I allow them to close and snuggle a little closer.
A knock pullsus from our nap.
I startle, disconnected, and sit upright. Scan the room. Where the hell am I?
“Yes?” Jake says behind me, his voice thick with sleep.
Oh, right. I’m at the Mitchell house.
One of the butlers talks through the door. He knows better than to come in after all the noises from earlier. I blush and fall back to the pillow. “Mr. Mitchell? Will you and Ms. Jones be accompanying us for dinner?”
It takes him a moment to remember who Ms. Jones is. Then looks to me. “Your call.” I was the one who was in such a hurry to get out of here earlier.
“Sure,” I say. Food does sound good…even though I don’t necessarily want to subject either of us to his family again. So, I tack on, “If you’re good with it.” I also like the idea of buying more time to get some info…now that I’ve calmed down, and all. And Jake and I are in a better place. I can make it a couple more hours.
“Sure,” he says to me, then raises his voice so the butler can hear. “Yes, please. And can you ask my sister for fresh bandages for Scarlett?”
Good call. I shouldn’t go to dinner with a blood-spotted bandage.
“Yes, of course, sir. And dinner will be at five.” When his feet patter away, Jake and I smile at each other, like we just bested a parent from totally busting us naked in the bed together. He shifts to lie on his side and face me. Brushes a matted piece of hair from my cheek. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
My heart clenches. Why does he keep saying that? “Thanks.” Or maybe it’s because I didn’t reply to him earlier. He wants to make sure I heard it.
And suddenly, us facing each other in bed and enjoying the company teleports me back to our first time. The two—the past and the present—feel parallel now. No longer some distant, hazy thing. We’ve come full circle.
His gaze shoots past me to the clock. “We have about an hour,” he says. “Want to shower?”
“I need to shower,” I correct.
“We do smell like sex and horses.”
I chuckle. And I’m sure our hair is a collective mess. Magnolia wouldn’t approve.
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Shower together?”
I press my hand against the round of his pec. “Slow down, cowboy. My vagina needs a small break.” And by small, I mean at least two days. It’s been over a year for me too.
He laughs, holding up a hand in surrender. “No—”
I finish it for him. “Hanky panky.”
“No hanky panky.”
Showering with a wrapped,injured hand is much easier when someone is there to help wash all the parts that need washing. For the most part, minus a lingering hand on my ass and breasts, he behaves as promised.
Wrapped in towels, we head back to the bedroom and find something to wear.
“The red ones,” he instructs as I dig through the suitcase for a pair of panties.
I smile and pluck them out. A little fancy for black leggings and a cream silk top, but I wouldn’t deny him his input.
