Page 224 of Titus

In Titus Hawk’s arms.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

I woke slowly, and for several seconds I simply lay there. I was warm, content, and comfortable. Then I remembered why… I was practically draped over Titus. One of his arms was around my waist, and my leg was tangled with his beneath the sheets.

I smiled and pressed a kiss to his side. Being back in his arms last night was better than anything I could have asked for. There was something to be said for having a gorgeous Spanish man worshiping your body all night.

The room was still dim, with soft morning light spilling across the ocean beyond. I lifted my head to see his face, and my heart melted. The man was completely knocked out. In the times I’d fallen asleep in his arms and woken up there, I’d never seen him sleep so deeply.

A few strands of his dark hair had fallen over his forehead. His breathing was slow and steady, and his face was relaxed in a way I’d never seen.

The last two weeks had clearly caught up with him. I couldn’t imagine he’d slept much at all in that place between attorneys, questions, uncertainty, and the possibility of facing prison… not to mention the uncomfortable accommodations.

I reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He didn’t even move. Poor guy.

I carefully slipped out of bed, letting him continue sleeping. The mattress barely moved, but he was still out like a light.

I quietly pulled on a pair of flowy lounge pants and an oversized cream sweater, then sneaked toward the door.

I glanced back one last time before leaving the room. Seeing him still sound asleep, I smiled, getting the idea to make him breakfast this time, since that was what he seemed to do for me since the first time I woke up in his arms.

A few minutes later, I tiptoed downstairs barefoot. The enormous house was remarkably quiet until I entered the kitchen.

A man looked up from the enormous marble island. He couldn’t have been much older than fifty. He had dark hair streaked with silver and was immaculately dressed.

He looked over from the espresso machine, and his expression immediately brightened. “Ms. Veléz.”

I smiled. “Good morning.”

“Buenos días.”

I softly laughed. Of course Titus had a Spanish chef. “You must be the chef.”

He gave a small bow. “Mateo Álvarez, señora.”

I extended my hand. “I’m Catalina.”

“I know exactly who you are,” he said with a smile. “It is wonderful to have you back with us.”

“Thank you,” I answered, glancing around the spectacular kitchen. “You wouldn’t happen to know what Titus likes for breakfast, would you?”

Mateo pretended to look genuinely offended. “Ms. Veléz…” He placed a hand over his chest. “I know everything Mr. Hawk likes.”

I laughed. “I should’ve known.”

The man smiled.

“What about on days when he has nowhere to be?” I asked.

He nodded. “He prefers a Spanish breakfast.”

I leaned forward. “Consisting of what?”

Mateo looked entirely too pleased to explain. “Fresh orange juice. Pan con tomate. Jamón ibérico. Eggs. Potatoes with onions.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It is amazing.”