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“Trust me.”
“I do, implicitly.”
“We should get something to eat. We have to go to bed early.”
“But I’m sure we won’t be sleeping.”
“We’ll see.”
We did anything but sleep. Foster makes love to me numerous times, which stops me from entering dreamland, so in the morning, I am groggy.
“Paige, for the last time, get up.”
I groan, muttering, “I’m exhausted.”
“In another few hours, you’ll be in the sun. You can sleep on a lounger with gentle ocean breezes blowing over you.”
“But, I want to sleep now.”
“It’s almost 4:15, and Peters will be here in forty-five minutes. If you’re not up, I’m taking you to the car as is.”
In a shot, I sit up in bed. “You wouldn’t!”
“I will. I don’t care if you’re naked. The concierge, Peters, and anyone else awake at that hour will get a show.”
Huffing, I snuggle back under the covers. “I hate you.”
“I highly doubt that. I’ll give you fifteen more minutes, and then I’m pulling the covers off the bed.”
“Go ‘way.”
“I mean it, Paige. Fifteen minutes,” Foster warns, his voice growing distant as he leaves the room. As I doze, the aroma of coffee tickles my nose. My husband is back within what felt like only a minute, gently tugging at the covers.
“It can’t be 4:30.”
“It is. Come on, sweetheart. Take a shower, and you’ll feel better.”
“You know what would make me feel better? Four more hours of sleep.”
“You can sleep on the beach. Get up.”
I grumble as I push the covers off and sling my legs over the side of the bed, all while rubbing at my eyes. Foster is occupying the chair near our bed, watching me. Naked, I pad to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. After I turn on the water to warm, I stand in front of the mirror. My face is puffy from sleep, and my eyes are bloodshot.
The shower feels good on my skin and ends far too soon when Foster pokes his head in the door to tell me I have twenty minutes to dry myself and get dressed.
“Bastard!” I call loud enough for him to hear.
“You better believe it. We have a schedule to keep,” he says smartly as he taps his watch.
I shut off the water and grab a towel from the bar to wrap around myself. Foster is still there, watching me with a wolfish grin.
“Get out.”
“You’re a real grouch this morning,” he says as he pulls the door closed behind him.
I recline my seat on the plane as soon as we are airborne. Foster strokes my face and raises my hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it.
“This is very different than our first honeymoon,” I comment.
