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When we’re done, when he’s out of me, he cages me with his arms. “You are so unbelievable,” he says.
I slide a finger down his cheek, then run it back up, down and up, loving the feel of his face, his whiskers. I think he likes when I touch his face almost as much as I do. Or maybe because I do.
“I was going to take more time,” he says. “I had a plan.”
I smile.
“I mean it. I want everything perfect for you.”
“You were supposed to leave your CEO role behind, remember?”
“Sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be. You make me feel like one of your people. You’re so beautiful with your people. They’re so lucky.”
“You are my people.”
I swallow and press my finger to his lip, trace the pillow of it.
I’m his people.
My throat is so clogged up with emotion, I couldn’t reply even if I wanted to.
He kisses me again, and I’m in heaven on the cool sheets below him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vicky
I shower while he makes phone calls about the Ten.
I dry off and put on one of his soft, beautifully made dress shirts. When I wander out of the bathroom, the smell of garlic and cheese hits my pleasure center full blast.
I find him cooking. Shirtless. Bare feet. Jeans hugging his hips just so.
“What are you making?”
He turns. His eyes go dark. “What are you wearing?”
I give him an innocent look. “This?”
He swears and turns back to the stove. “Alfredo sauce. And I’m at a critical point in this operation. There’s wine breathing. Why don’t you pour us a glass.”
It’s breathing. He’s so nerdy about doing everything perfectly.
I pour two glasses and go back. Set his by the stove top.
“You have to add the cheese to the sauce so slowly,” he says, adding a microscopic amount of cheese to the pound of melted butter and heavy cream he’s been stirring slowly and methodically. “So slowly.”
“It smells amazing.”
He adds another micro amount, and another, and another. “Most people don’t do it like this.”
But Henry does.
I set down my wine and put my arms around him, making contact with the muscles and hard planes of him.
“You are so going to ruin dinner.”
