Trillion(48)

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he all but growls, his cinnamon breath hot against my skin. “Every time I look at you, it’s all I can do not to touch you.”

He releases his hold and cups my cheek in his hand before his mouth crushes mine. Inhaling the scent of coffee shops and bookstores and Seattle sea breeze, I breathe him in and let myself melt against the magnetic heat of his body. His hips press against mine, his bulge prominent and unapologetic. I climb into his arms with an urgency unlike any I’ve known before.

Cupping my ass, he lifts me, carrying me to the bedroom suite and depositing me on the freshly made bed. Climbing over me, he tastes my lips once more as his hand unfastens the buttons of my blouse one by one, until my bare stomach is exposed to the icy air of our hotel room.

His fingertips trace my flesh, followed by his mouth, but, with each inch closer to my pulsing arousal, my body tenses.

Sitting up, I place my hand against his chest and gently push him to his back. Before he has a chance to protest, I straddle him, working his zipper.

He doesn’t argue. Most men don’t when your hands are deep into their pants.

I free his cock, palming his impressive girth before bringing my lips to meet the tip.

Dragging my tongue along his veiny ridges, his thighs go limber beneath me as he melts into the mattress the instant I take him into my mouth. A moment later, he attempts to pull me closer to him—but it’s still daytime outside, and the break in the blackout curtains spills light onto the bed.

We’re not in the dark. Not completely.

There are things I’m not ready for him to see, things I don’t want to explain—not here, not yet.

I ignore his insistence and suck him harder, faster, until he gives up … and gives in. When he finally explodes in my mouth, I swallow once before disappearing into the bathroom to freshen up.

He’s still on the bed when I come out, his fly zipped but belt buckle undone.

Pulling me into his lap, he whispers, “Your turn,” before burying his face into my neck, caressing the curve of my hips, and working his way to my waistband.

I place a hand on his chest, leaning in to nibble his ear, and I whisper in return, “Later.”

And I fully intend to cash in on that promise …

He frowns, brows furrowed. His lips part, as if he’s about to question me, but I silence him with a kiss before climbing off.

“I’m going to grab some fresh air,” I say as I head to the balcony.

Once outside, the wind sweeps my hair over my shoulders, and I keep an eye on the glass slider, fully expecting him to step out any moment. But he leaves me alone, as if he knows it’s what I want right now.

Someday I’ll tell Trey everything.

But that day is not today.

I’m enjoying myself too much to ruin it.





Thirty-Seven





Sophie



Past



“We need to get you up and moving.” A nurse in yellow scrubs bursts into my hospital recovery suite like a ray of freaking sunshine, beaming so bright the apples of her cheeks are as red as cherries. “The sooner you start getting around, the easier your recovery will be.”

She positions a walker by the front door and comes around the side of my bed.

“Mom, you’re welcome to help me,” she says to my mother. “We have handrails along the hallways, but we definitely don’t want Sophie on her own. Need someone there just in case.”

My mom and I exchange looks, both of us knowing it should be Nolan helping me.

The nurse offers a bent arm, and I hook my hand in the crook, slowly swinging my legs off the side of the bed until my socked feet meet the hard floor.

My C-section incision burns as yesterday’s morphine works its way out of my system, and my legs ache from immobility.

Baby Girl Ames was born at 12:02 pm yesterday. Eight pounds, twelve ounces. Twenty inches long. Full head of dark hair like her father. Nolan stayed by my side during the surgery, brushing my hair and offering me looks of assurance since all I could see was a blue sheet and all I could hear were the beeps of the machines that registered our heartbeats.

I’ll never forget the doctor declaring, “It’s a girl!” and the nurses cheering.

I’ll also never forget that the second she was out, Nolan flew to the nurses’ side as they weighed and measured and tested her. When they were done, one of them showed me a pink face swaddled tight in a white hospital blanket before placing her back in the clear bassinet and rolling her out of the OR.

Nolan went with her …

I’d never seen such light in his eyes, and as the doctor sewed me up, I thought maybe … just maybe … he’d had a change of heart about all of this.

“Come on, Sophie. You can do this.” Mom takes my other arm and together, we stand. I’m unsteady at first. Then the nurse positions the walker and IV stand and offers an encouraging nod. I grip the bar. Mom moves the IV, hand on my lower back.

“You’re doing great,” the nurse tells us. “I’ll let you two roam a bit and I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”

With stunted, cautious steps, I make my way to the hall. A sign outside the door points left for the nursery.

I want to see her … I want to see her one last time before the social worker comes in and I sign my life away.