Page 67 of Arranged To Be Mine

“Could’ve fooled me. I figured you had a personal chef.”

She rolled her eyes. “I live alone. I had to learn to feed myself at some point.”

I watched her over the rim of my coffee cup, thinking about how different this felt from every other morning-after I’d experienced. Usually, there was an awkwardness. A rush to get dressed and get out. Polite conversation masking the mutual understanding that this was temporary.

This didn’t feel temporary.

I kept telling her to let people in. I had the audacity to lecture her about hiding behind those walls she’d built. But sitting here, watching her eat breakfast in my kitchen, I realized I’d been guilty of the same damn thing.

Sure, I was close to my family. The Blackwells were a tight-knit bunch, for better or worse. But everyone else? They were clients. Colleagues. Casual hookups that never went anywhere because I never let them.

I’d convinced myself I was different from Darcy. I was better at connecting with people. I laughed. I went out. I surrounded myself with people. But the truth was, I’d been keeping everyone at arm’s length too. Just in a different way.

Things with Darcy were different. Maybe I’d been missing out all these years. Or maybe I’d just been waiting for someone like her to come along. It was too soon to think she was the one. Way too soon. We’d known each other a few weeks. This was supposed to be fake. A business arrangement.

But for the first time in my life, I found myself thinking about what I actually wanted. Not just the next case or the next deal. The big picture stuff. The future.

I could see Darcy there. In my house, in my bed, at my table. Us building something together. I had no idea if that was something she wanted. Asking her right now, the morning after our first time together, would send her running for the hills faster than I could say “commitment.”

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, catching me staring. “You look like you’re trying to do calculus.”

“Nothing.” I smiled. “Just appreciating the view.”

She glanced down at herself. “I look like a mess.”

“Hottest mess I’ve ever seen.”

She ducked her head, focusing on her eggs. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Part of my charm.”

We finished breakfast, and I insisted on leaving the mess.

“I’m hungry,” I said. I reached out, undoing the button on my shirt hanging off her. “Starving.”

I undid the next, giving me a glorious view of cleavage. She shuddered, telling me she was as excited for a little after-breakfast treat as I was.

I grabbed at her waist, hiking her up. Her legs automatically wrapped around my waist. I carried her up the stairs with her mouth hot on my neck. We barely made it through the door before I had her on the bed, peeling my shirt off her body, revealing all that gorgeous skin I’d spent the night memorizing.

This time was slower. More intentional. I’d taken the edge off last night, which meant I wasn’t nearly as desperate for release. I took my time exploring every inch of her, learning what made her gasp and moan and dig her nails into my back. She was responsive in a way that drove me crazy, arching into my touch, whispering my name like a prayer.

When we finally came together, it felt like something clicking into place. Like finding a piece I hadn’t known was missing.

Afterward, neither of us seemed all that eager to move.

“I should probably go home at some point,” she said, though she made no move to get up.

Neither of us moved.

Finally, she sighed and pushed herself up, looking down at me with a softness in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. “Thank you. For last night. For this morning. For…” She trailed off, searching for words.

“For being incredibly handsome and charming?”

She laughed and swatted my chest. “For a good time. I had fun.”

“I know.”

She laughed again. “You’re naughty.”