My tummy growled. I needed sustenance.
I attempted to brush out the sex hair on the back of my head, finally giving up and sweeping the whole mess into two pigtails. I washed my face again, removing the traces of mascara and was debating on whether to shower now or after breakfast when I finally noticed the hickey.
A mother loving hickey! I was thirty-three for Christ's sake!
Thirty-three and in pigtails…
Shut it.
There was a hickey on the side of my neck the size of a quarter. I looked like I had argued with a Hoover and the Hoover won. Jesus. This is what you got for messing around with a twenty-four-year-old.
I opened the door quickly, preparing to confront Jack about this behavior, and explain to him that a grown woman simply cannot go around with hickeys on her neck, when I saw him in my bed. In my bed.
I softened when I noticed that he was sound asleep again, the sheets pulled low on his torso, arms up behind his head, mouth slightly open.
Are they shooting an Abercrombie ad in your bedroom today?
He was so pretty.
I quickly scooped up his shirt from last night, which smelled divine, and buttoned it up. I grabbed a pair of panties from the dresser and quietly stepped out into the hall. I wanted to let him sleep a little longer and I needed coffee.
Once in the hall, I bent down to put on my panties when I heard Holly say from behind me, "That's a view I never need to see again."
I quickly pulled them on home and turned to face her with a sheepish grin. "Sorry," I said with a wink, letting her know I was not sorry at all.
She pointed at the stairs. "Kitchen, two minutes. Coffee's made. I want the details that I didn't actually already hear myself."
You are in trouble.
***
I sat in the kitchen with my best friend, with the new "It Boy" asleep in the room above me, and tried to explain the grand events that had taken place last night in the greater L.A. area.
Holly listened as I recounted some of the sweeter moments, holding up her hand when I delved too deeply into details. She reminded me that she had heard the bulk of what had taken place and I apologized repeatedly. She said not to worry, she and Nick had made popcorn and perched at the top of the stairs most of the night, listening.
I sat in one of her comfortable armchairs in the breakfast nook, with my legs underneath me, drowning in Jack's shirt and in his scent. I was nibbling at a piece of toast, nursing a cup of coffee, when I heard stirring from above me. Holly heard him as well, and as his feet slapped on the stairs, she made herself scarce.
"Grace, I do believe you are blushing." She smiled at me, grabbing her keys and leaving for the market through the back door.
I sat up, then leaned back again, and then arranged myself in what felt like a natural pose. As I continued to struggle to find a cute sitting position, I heard, "Sheridan, do you have to pee?"
"Huh, what?" I stammered, surprised to find he was already in the kitchen and looking at me strangely. He was dressed in his jeans from last night, barefoot and bare-chested. His jeans were hanging low and he looked like disheveled sex.
"Why are you wiggling about so?" he inquired, opening cupboards, looking for something. He picked up the coffee pot and gestured to my mug.
"Forget it," I answered, flustered. I got up to get him a mug and I found that I was nervous all of a sudden.
Maybe this was it. This was one night stand time. This was when the awkward conversation would start, the promises to get together that would never take place. This was when the tension would begin. Dammit. I cared too much already. As I reached up to grab the mug, I felt his hand on my behind.
"Hurry up with that coffee, you little screamer, and then you can fix your man a proper breakfast," he said seriously, giving my ass a smack and then pressing his lips to my neck.
I smiled into the cupboard. We were good.
Chapter Fourteen
I made him breakfast and he watched. Eggs, scrambled. Toast, slightly burned, the way he liked it—with marmalade, like Paddington Bear. Juice
and
coffee.
While I cooked, he snuck kisses to me every time I walked near him. He tried to peek beneath his shirt, which I was currently wearing. I kept him away, although the toast might have been a little more burnt than he would have liked as I was fighting him off somewhere over by the Mr. Coffee.
I was famished myself, and we ate at the breakfast bar together, albeit on opposite sides. I felt it was necessary to keep two feet of granite between The Brit's roving hands and me. When he finished, he groaned, patting his full belly and letting out a loud burp.
"Gross." I grimaced, placing our plates in the sink.
"Get used to it, Sheridan. I am disgusting," he said, crossing over to meet me by the dishwasher. "Piggy piggy piggy." He laughed as he pointed at himself. He was looking devious again, his fingers reaching out to touch my bare legs and migrate north.
"Seriously, Hamilton, I can't take anymore. I need a shower and I actually have things to do. Not all of us can slack full time," I scolded, backing away but finding myself in a corner.
Trapped. Damn.
"Are you really telling me you want none of this?" he teased, sticking his tongue out and wiggling it at me like a cheeky schoolboy. My stomach fell out of me and ran out the front door.
"Nice tongue. What are you, thirteen? You're disgusting." I laughed in spite of myself. "And yes, I'm telling you exactly that," I answered, my voice wavering. I was trying to put on a stern face, but he could tell I didn't have the guts to back it up. My guts, you see, having just left through the front door.
"I didn't hear you complaining last night or this morning about this very tongue," he said mischievously, moving closer. I pulled myself up onto the counter behind me, the only place I could go.
Bad idea.
"What about these?" he asked, holding up his magic hands, waving his fingers at me. "Surely you wouldn't object to these, would you?"
"Umm…I, hmm…what?" I was having trouble following the conversation.
Tell him not to call you Shirley…
He positioned himself between my legs and nudged them open. I stared at him; he was a vision. I do not have the vocabulary necessary to communicate how devastatingly handsome the man truly is. I had seen him in a suit and tie, his scruffy hipster uniform complete, even his own birthday suit. Yet there is nothing in the world that was more excruciatingly, painfully, pinch-yourself-to-make-sure-you're-not-dreaming beautiful than the sight of Jack Hamilton, hair standing on end, shirtless and shoeless, in jeans, between my legs.
My breath caught in my throat as he slid his hands up the outside of my thighs and hooked his thumbs around the band of my panties. I regained a little control.
"No, No, Sweet Nuts. I can't. I have calls to ret—" I tried to say, his mouth interrupting me with a kiss.
"Mmm hmm," he responded, his mouth moving down my neck, his hands slowly tugging at my panties and sliding them over my knees.
"And I have a meeting this afternoon with my contractor…" I tried again, noticing that my panties were now on the floor.
"Mmm hmm. Contractor. Got it," he whispered, locking eyes with me as he spread my legs further. He pulled me to the edge of the counter and quite deliberately bent one leg and hooked it around his waist, giving him better access to me. His fingers touched me and I struggled to keep my focus.