Page 164 of Titus

“And by the way,” I settled deeper into his embrace, “I want the very same thing you do.”

The look that crossed his face was worth everything, as if there were nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. And for the first time all week, I suspected we’d both fall asleep exactly where we wanted to be.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

How was it that I had everything a man in my world could ask for, yet none of it felt more important than the moment I was experiencing right now?

Catalina slept with her head resting against my bicep, her dark curls strewn across my chest, while I lay wide awake beside her. I had no idea what time it was, but with daybreak painting the views beyond her room a shade of pink, I knew it had to be around seven in the morning.

I gently twisted Cat’s hair between my fingers, never wanting to leave this spot. I had the most beautiful homes, but they were just empty shells. They were meaningless if I couldn’t see this woman smile or feel her closeness while I was there.

Before Cat, they were all created to be the perfect refuge for me, a place to escape the noise or to think about my next vision or plan. Now? All I could think about was sharing moments with this woman in my arms.

People would be shocked to know that, despite being what appeared to be the most envied man in Southern California because of a stupid yacht anchored off the coast, I felt like a lost puppy who didn’t want to be alone last night.

Instead, all I wanted was this.

Cat turned toward me, kissed my side, then rolled over and sought comfort from a pillow instead of my arm, which brought me to the next thing I desperately wanted to do after waking up with her in my arms. Attempt breakfast without my chef’s help.

I moved over to kiss the back of her hair, run my hands along the frame of her body, and eased myself out of bed without waking her.

I slid my trousers on, pulled on my white undershirt, and walked out of her bedroom and into the kitchen.

Her balcony windows offered a view of the ocean gently rolling under the pink sky as the sun continued to rise.

Okay. Now, to see what she has in the fridge, or I’ll be shopping for the first time in my adult life for eggs.

The lights flicked on in her fridge as I ducked to see that it was fully stocked. I grinned when I noticed every label faced perfectly forward. Baskets of strawberries sat neatly beside glass containers filled with freshly cut cantaloupe and watermelon.

The damn thing looked organized enough to plan its own event. Then again, this was Cat. Would I really expect anything in her world to be anything less than neat, orderly, and meticulously arranged?

“Good morning,” I heard one of the young women say.

I turned. “Good morning, Amelia,” I smiled. “I was trying to surprise your sister with breakfast.”

She pulled her hair up into a topknot as she walked into the kitchen. “Aren’t you the dream man of the year? First the yacht, and now this?” she said, reaching past me for the orange juice.

“Well, the yacht was easy,” I chuckled, opening cabinets and finding all the labeled glass containers for flour, rice, beans, you fucking name it. “Cooking is something I’m still working on.”

“She mentioned you cooked her breakfast the first morning on the yacht,” Amelia said, putting the orange juice back in the fridge and pulling out the glass container of brown eggs, a jar of whole milk, and cottage cheese, somehow managing to grab the butter as well.

“Jesus Christ,” I said. “How the hell do you manage that?”

“Easy, I’m going to be a mom in five months,” she said, setting everything on the counter next to the stove. “What I’m worried about is managing all of this while holding a kid in one arm.”

I chuckled. “Cat said you’re going to have a baby girl,” I said. “You must be delighted.”

“I am,” she smiled at me. “I’ll have a little best friend soon enough.” She held up a finger. “Now, if you really want to make my sister happy, her favorite breakfast is French toast.” She walked toward the cabinet and pulled out the maple syrup. “Grab the strawberries and blueberries from the fridge,” she ordered me. “And I’ll give you a hand.”

By the time I gathered the ingredients, Amelia already had a saucepan, a griddle, and syrup on the counter.

“We’re going to make her favorite French toast topping,” she said, instantly conjuring a cutting board and a knife.

“Where the hell…” I paused, resting a hand on the counter. “How did you manage all of that so quickly?”

“Get over here and slice the strawberries, chief,” she teased. “I’m not doing all the work,” she winked, turning on the stove.

“If I cut myself,” I played back.