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I also knew myself well enough to know this would not be the last time I took a ride from Denver to Skyridge with the intention of running into this man.
Pushing up on my knees, I crawled over him. “Make me blush, Jake.”
He gripped my hips and devoured me with his eyes. “I’m going to do more than that, baby. I’m going to light you on fire.”
He made good on his word.
All. Night. Long.
As my eyes rolled back from another body-shaking orgasm, I heaved a breath, smiling to myself.
Best fever dream I’ve ever had…
Chapter Three
Clara
A warm, sticky hand gently slapped my cheek.
“Wake-up time.”
My eyes fluttered, and my legs shuffled in the sheets. Was it really time to wake up? It felt like I’d just reached over and turned off the light beside my bed.
And I’d been having the best dream. I was on the back of someone’s bike, wind whipping my hair, laughing at the stars twinkling in the night sky. I wasn’t ready to wake up and face the sun yet.
“Mommy, open your eyes.”
Nellie’s sweet breath grazed my cheek, and I grabbed her, pulling her wiggly body onto my chest. She squealed with surprise, giggling as she fell against me.
“I’m not ready to wake up,” I whined, keeping my eyes clamped shut.
“But you gotta work, Mommy.”
She said this with no conviction, quickly settling on my chest, her small fingers tangling in my hair. I relaxed, soaking in her weight and gentle touches. If she wasn’t careful, she’d put us both back to sleep.
“I’m so comfy, though.” I squeezed her tight. “I think we should stay here all day. You can be my teddy bear.”
That got her going again, laughing like I was the best comedian she’d ever heard, giving me a proper ego boost. Granted, she was three and it didn’t take much to crack her up, but I counted it as a win.
“I’m not a teddy bear,” she declared.
“You’re not?” I pet the top of her head. “But you’re so fuzzy.”
“Mooommy, come on!”
She pushed away, scooting to sit beside me. I cracked open my eyes to look at my daughter. Her chestnut waves were a mess, and she had a milk mustache. As always, she was utter perfection.
“Did Marina feed you a yummy breakfast?” I asked.
She nodded vigorously. It was how she did most things. “Cereal and lotsa fruit.”
I scrunched my nose. “I wonder if she’ll make me breakfast too.”
Her head tilted in thought. “I think so. You gotta get out of bed if you want to eat it.”
I sighed. “Oh, all right.”
I used to feel terrible, gut-churning guilt at having a nanny help me in the mornings with feeding Nellie breakfast and getting her dressed while I caught extra sleep, but my mother had put a stop to it. She’d told me women with partners didn’t feel guilty for letting their partner pick up the slack or tapping out when they needed to. She had reasoned since I was doing motherhood on my own—unintentionally and rather traumatically—I should consider my nanny my parenting partner.
