The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(103)

I feel him smile above me. “You really were.”

I smirk. There he is. The smart-ass is back. “Be careful today, Christopher. You are skating on very thin ice.”

He laughs and holds his two hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay.” He kisses me again and then rolls me onto my back and spreads my legs with his knee. I feel his erection grow up against my leg.

“Don’t even think about it,” I mutter dryly.

“What?”

“Sex is the very last thing on my mind today.”

His face falls. “What happened to the awesome makeup sex I hear all about?”

I sit up and climb out of bed. “I don’t know, but it’s not happening now.”

He exhales heavily and flops back on the bed, disheartened.

I turn the shower on in the en suite.

“Well, what do you want to do today?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I guess you can show me around this museum of an apartment, and then I have to go shopping to buy some new clothes.” I take my pajamas off and throw them on the floor as I step into the shower.

“Why do you need new clothes?” he asks.

“Because I’ve been living in the same six outfits for twelve months, and you’re stupid rich, and I look like a beggar.”

He smiles as he leans onto his elbow as he lies on the bed. “Beg me for sex, why don’t you, and I’ll see what I can do.”

I roll my eyes. “Not happening.”



Half an hour later I sit at the fancy marble counter as Christopher makes us an omelet. I look around at the kitchen, and it’s straight out of a magazine. He’s got bacon and mushrooms and orange juice, croissants and all the yummy trimmings.

“How come you have food to cook? We didn’t go to the grocery store yet.”

“My housekeeper does the shopping.”

I frown. “You have a housekeeper?”

“We.” He gestures to the air between us. “We have a housekeeper.” He flips the omelet. “Do whatever you want to the apartment. Make it how you want it. Hire an interior designer if you like.”

What?

“I’m not touching a thing. It’s not my apartment.”

“It is your apartment. You live here, so it’s yours too.”

“We’re not even married.” I roll my eyes.

“We will be.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile and widens his eyes. “Give me time.”

I roll my lips to hide my smile as my stomach flutters. That’s the first time he’s ever said anything like that.

I like it.

I look around some more. I feel like a little kid in some kind of fancy store. I don’t want to touch anything in case I break it.

He puts my plate down in front of me with a quick kiss. “Eat your breakfast, and then I’m taking you shopping.”

“Where do you even buy clothes in a place like this?”

“Madison Avenue.”

“Is there a budget department store there? Because my funds are low.”

“I think I can cover it.”

“No.”

He widens his eyes in jest as he points to my plate. “Eat your breakfast before I march you into the bedroom to be fucked.”

I smirk as I take a bite of my toast.

His phone vibrates on the counter in front of us.

Mom

He keeps eating.

“Are you going to answer that?”

“No. She’s calling to hassle me.”

“About what?”

“She wants to meet you.” He rolls his eyes. “They all want to meet you.”

I stare at him. You learn a lot about a person from their family. And I have so, so much that I want to learn. This will give me a true insight into his life and who he really is.

“Call her back. Organize a dinner for tonight with everyone. I want to meet them too.”

“Are you sure? My family is full on.”

“I mean”—I shrug—“how bad can it be?”

He chuckles. “Pretty fucking bad.”





Chapter 23


I grip Christopher’s hand with white-knuckle force as we walk down the street. I peer around like a child seeing the world for the first time. A million cars, beautiful people, and I can hardly see the sky for skyscrapers. The shops look like luxury stores, nothing at all like where I would normally buy my clothes. Even the mannequins in the windows are hot.

And tiny.

Does anyone sell anything in normal sizes?

Madison Avenue . . . code for teeny tiny.

I look around at all the women who are buzzing around in a hurry, stylish and gorgeous, groomed to perfection. I catch sight of Christopher and me in a shop window, and I inwardly cringe. He’s looking all suave, in black jeans and shirt, and I’m wearing a casual T-shirt and shorts that I’ve practically lived in for over a year.

They’re worn and faded. My hair is all over the place, and I have no makeup on. I look like a complete wreck, and last night’s crying puffy eyes and face don’t help my cause.

I sure am missing our relaxed backpacking life right now.

We walk past a huge fancy boutique, and the mannequin is wearing a black dress and nice shoes. “In here,” Christopher says.