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Afterward, my arms were shaking. He kissed my spine and helped me rise.
Our combined release gushed down my legs, but I didn’t care. It was us. Our love for each other.
Sometimes life was picture perfect like it had been that day at the press conference when he asked me to marry him and told the world he loved me. Sometimes it was messy. We hadn’t planned to make love, but maybe in our impulsiveness, we had made a baby.
“What were you looking for under the bed?” He searched my eyes. His were full of satisfaction and heavily hooded.
“My shoes,” I said.
“They’re on top of the bed.” His sexy lips quirked. “Not under it.
I glanced where he’d gestured and sighed. He was right.
“You’re nervous. It’s your last night.”
“Fantasy is sold out.” I shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal, but it was. “Mary and Charles are coming. The wait list is a mile long.” My lips quirked. “But I’m relaxed now.”
“That was the plan,” Champion said arrogantly. As he ran his hand down my cheek, his expression softened to one of pride and possession. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’m gonna jump in the shower first.” He gestured. “I need to get Ally to Fantasy first. Then I’ll come back for you.”
“You’re setting up your tripod to take photos, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Of course I am. You are my favorite muse.”
“Stay then,” I said. “I’ll ask Jeremy to swing by for me. You can bring me home after the show.”
“Are you sure?” His brows rose.
“Yes,” I said with a nod. “Absolutely.”
“All right.”
As he stalked past me, I watched his naked backside and that impossibly tight ass of his flex.
Champion Valentine was something, and he was my something. Three weeks of living together, and I still hadn’t gotten used to it. Reaching between his wide shoulders, he yanked off his shirt.
Damn. I brought my hand to my mouth, biting down on it to keep from going after him and making us even more late.
• • •
I went to answer the front door to the house, wondering why Jeremy hadn’t rung me to open the gate. But the man standing on the stoop wasn’t Jeremy. Instead, he looked startlingly like an older version of his son.
“You’re Electra,” he said. “I saw you on the television when you did the press conference. I’m Champion’s father, Bruce Valentine. I know I didn’t call.”
In shock, I widened my eyes, and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“Honestly, I knew he wouldn’t welcome a call from me,” he said. “But seeing the way he looked at you and spoke to you at the press conference. I hoped his heart might be softer. Could I come in? Try to apologize? Attempt to make amends?”
“You can come in.” I stepped back and gestured.
“Thank you.”
Bruce came in with an easy stride that reminded me of Champion. Closing the door, I turned to face him.
“Gathering room is this way.” I passed him, leading the way down the hall. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
