Page 100 of The Sweetest Return

My throat went quiet.

He let that sit for a second before adding, softer, “I meant that.”

Heat crept up my face.

There was nothing sexual in his words, which somehow made my body respond like there was. Maybe because the tenderness had always been part of the problem with Dre. He could make a woman ache without touching her. Could say one honest thing in that low voice and pull warmth into places a man had no business reaching over the phone.

I looked down at the white sheet twisted across my lap.

“Oh.”

“That all you got?”

“What am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth.”

I rubbed my thumb over my bottom lip. “I didn’t know you meant it for this long.”

“I did.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then fabric shifted on his end, followed by a low exhale.

I pictured him before I could stop myself. Probably shirtless, beard slightly mussed, stretched across some enormous bed in the presidential suite, phone against his ear, diamonds somewhere on the nightstand, voice rough from sleep.

That image did absolutely nothing useful for me.

“Are you still in bed?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“You called me from bed?”

“Soon as I woke up.”

Something warm moved through my chest before the rest of me could make it sexual.

Of course the rest of me managed anyway.

“That sounds very intentional.”

“It was.”

“You know, calling me was probably smarter than coming downstairs.”

A pause.

“I thought about that too.”

My hand stopped.

“Coming downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“To my room?”