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Chapter 8
Santiago rubbed his eyes. Tiffany had slept through the night, and when he woke up to check on the weather, he’d watched her for a good while.
Tiffany Burrows, in bed with him. The memories of the previous night flashed through his mind, making his pulse spike and his cock harden. He had shared the hottest night of his life with her. One he would never forget.
He disengaged from her arms and slid out of bed. Electricity had returned overnight and the heater had kicked in, so he chose to put on his blue pajama pants. Shy rays of sunlight pierced the clouds. Some of the snow would surely melt, but he doubted he’d be able to have a skiing lesson today. Making a mental note to contact his instructor, he left the bedroom, brushed his teeth, and headed to the kitchen.
The cat purred at him while he grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and proceeded to open the refrigerator door.
“Hi, cat,” he said to the feline.
The cat purred again, then sat in front of him. The eyes seemed bigger, more alive than the previous night. Maybe she wanted some food.
Grabbing the milk carton, he yawned. Then, he poured some of the contents into the bowl, and lowered it to the floor. The cat didn’t waste any time, and lapped it.
“Isn’t your life simple?” he mused, and again, was jealous of the cat. He curled his fingers into a ball. Damn it. Restless, he tapped his foot on the wood floor. He would have to talk to her, but what exactly would he say? When she told him she loved him, his heart raced so fast he thought he’d have a cardiac arrest.
He switched the coffee machine on, and leaned against the counter. Some caffeine would help him know exactly what to do. He eyed the pie, the same one she had eaten so adorably the previous day.
“Morning,” she said, and he turned to find her walking in his direction. She wore his cobalt sweater, and it covered just past her thighs. She pulled it down. “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t resist putting on your sweater. Plus, I didn’t feel like going through my things and looking for clothes to wear.”
“It’s okay,” he said, and looked at her for a lingering moment. “You look better in it than I ever would.”
She touched her hair, teasing the tousled short cut. “When I asked for a haircut, I asked for vintage Mia Farrow. But then, it turned out, well, this,” she pointed at her hair.
Lovely. He bit back a smile. “Would you like some coffee? Some toast? Cereal? Eggs?” he asked, tearing his gaze from her and focusing on the beeping coffee machine.
“No I’m good,” she said, and opened the refrigerator and withdrew a carton of orange juice. “Thanks for giving Louise her breakfast. I can’t believe I slept so much.”
“Why?”
She grabbed a goblet from the cupboard and poured water from the fridge. Before taking the glass to her mouth though, she stared at the contents for a while, seemingly lost in thought. “Remember I mentioned I’ve been having problems sleeping lately? That’s one of the reasons I came here, for some time off from work,” she finally said.
No wonder she’d had those dark circles under her eyes the previous day. “I understand. Tell me more about it,” he said, and had a swig of coffee.
She traced the edge of the goblet. “The past few years, I just wanted to be on the go. Doing things. I don’t like to stop.”
“What happens when you stop?”
“I feel lonely. And I think about stuff.” The words came from her mouth, but he related to them more than he wanted.
Keeping busy and on-the-go had helped him stay sane. Wasn’t that why he came to the cottage? To master skiing for his new TV show, even if it was exhausting? What a fool he had been when he’d thought they had little in common. Right now, looking deep into her gorgeous blue eyes, it was hard to think, period. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened to Patricia.”
She folded her arms. “Why not? You have.”
No. He wouldn’t let her slip into defensive mode when they were addressing such important matters. He put his cup on the counter and stroked her cheek. “I’ve done a lot of things I regret.”
“Do you regret making love last night?”
No.“Do you?”
“Not at all.” She stood on her toes and pulled his head down. She touched her forehead to his, and he closed his eyes.
Control hung by an instable thread. He swallowed hard. Damn it. Why did her words carry such weight? They had the power to make his heart sing, his body hum. His lips covered hers, and she linked her arms around his head before pulling back.
“You haven’t answered, Santiago… Are you sorry we had sex?”
“No,” he said, and toyed with the collar of the sweater. She licked her bottom lip, and he saw craving in her eyes. “I’m not sorry I tasted your sweet pussy.” He pulled her to him, his hands hovered over her breasts. The tight tips strained against the thick fabric, and he circled them with his thumb. “I’m not sorry I fucked you hard and fast.” He dropped his hands down to her ass, and pulled her to him. She molded to him perfectly.
