Page 23 of The Trouble with Flings

Fitz

I’m awake long before I admit it to myself, lying in Jennifer’s bed, reveling in the feel of her warm, naked body draped across mine. Her hair is a mass of tangles across my chest, a reminder of our spectacularly satisfying night. I’m not into awkward morning afters. Going back to her suite last night was a strategic play, so I could leave when I was ready.

That time never came.

My alarm chimes from within my slacks somewhere on the floor, a reminder as to why staying over was a terrible idea. My conference starts in forty minutes. I’m particularly interested in today’s panels on AI implementation and sustainability. The two do not go hand in hand. While we don’t want Silver House to be left behind in technological progression, I’m far more interested in making sure our technological progress doesn’t outpace or negate our responsibility to the environment and humans.

That’s far too much thinking for a man with a naked woman draped over him like a blanket. I should get up. My family is counting on me to bring back cutting-edge ideas. Instead, I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her, and consider all the ways I can ruin her for all other men before breakfast.

Jennifer blinks awake slowly, her eyes soft and unguarded. But that’s quickly pushed away by what I can only assume is that disoriented awareness of waking up in an unfamiliar room with someone you hadn’t planned to still be thinking about in the morning.

She struggles to tuck that away. As someone who has spent a lifetime mastering control, I recognize this particular reset and watch her trying to force her control back into place.

It doesn’t quite make it. The familiar sharpness she wears like armor doesn’t seem to fit this morning, and I fucking love that.

But I saw her trying to force it, and I know better than to pretend that doesn’t matter. It lodges in my chest, with the other moments I witnessed into the wee hours of the morning with her. One day I will earn more of her trust, and she will realize she doesn’t need that armor around me. I won’t be one of the men who harm her fragile underbelly.

I’ll be the one who protects it at all costs.

“What was that awful noise?” she asks sleepily.

I run my fingers through her hair, surprised she hasn’t already tried to pry herself off me. “My alarm. Sorry. The conference starts at nine.”

“Oh.” She glances at the clock. “That’s in half an hour.”

“Just enough time for me to enjoy my new favorite breakfast.” I roll her onto her back and trail kisses along her jaw.

She’s quiet for a moment before saying, “What if you didn’t go?”

“That’s not an option.” I have too many people counting on me to stay ahead of what’s coming to skip the conference.

I kiss my way down her body, slowing to tease her breasts the way she loves. She buries her hands in my hair, moaning and squirming beneath me.

“Don’t worry, wild girl. I’ll be with you in spirit.” I kiss her inner thigh, guiding her leg over my shoulder. “After I’m done with you, you won’t be able to stop thinking about me.”

“That’s ambitious, considering I scheduled a private surf lesson with a very hot instructor I met yesterday.”

I lift my eyes to hers, holding her gaze. Fuck the conference. I press one deliberate kiss to her inner thigh and say, “Cancel it,” and then proceed to unravel her all morning long.

Much later, the ocean stretches out before us, shades of turquoise and deeper blue shimmering beneath the sun. Past the break, a handful of surfers move with the rhythm of the water. The breeze carries scents of salt and sunscreen and the unique and enticing scent of Jennifer.

She’s standing at the waterline in her bikini, one hand shading her eyes as she studies the waves. The breeze catches her hair, shifting it around her shoulders. A wave breaks and races up the beach, swirling around her ankles, her feet disappearing into the wet sand. She doesn’t flinch or step back. She watches it pull away with a new, all-too-alluring smile.

We took our time getting ready this morning. The shower turned into its own sexy distraction before we wandered down to a café, where she held her coffee mug between both hands, watching me over the rim, and stole half the fruit from my plate and every bit of my attention.

I shouldn’t have blown off the conference, but I’m standing on the beach with the most beautiful, challenging woman I know, watching her look at the ocean like it’s the next thing she intends to conquer, and I have zero regrets.

“You get to wake up to this kind of view every day,” she says, turning toward me. “What’s that like?”

“It doesn’t suck.”

Her smile widens. “Do you take it for granted when you can see it anytime you want?”

“Never. She’s too volatile to take for granted.”

Jennifer shields her eyes. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“Like I said, she’s volatile. Take her for granted, and she’ll pull you under.”