Mogul (Manhattan #2)(40)

Ian



I wake up with a sore back, a stiff neck, and a Cheshire Cat grin on my face. I shift and crack my neck to the side and discover the reason: Sara. She looks like a wet dream, lying on my mattress, spooning my side, her head under my arm, her dark hair over my bicep. I reach out with my free hand and stroke a strand of silken hair, wrapping it around my index finger.

It’s been a long time since I slept with the warmth of a woman next to me. I remember when I was a teenager, eager to steal Cordelia into my bedroom and feel her warmth, her heat, her love.

I haven’t wanted her love in a long time. Anyone’s.

I’m not so sure now.

This girl is into me. I can see it. Feel it.

I’m addicted to it. I’m addicted to her.

How the hell did this happen?

Was I looking for her? Did I want to get entangled with another woman after Cordelia?

No. But now her scent fuels me. Now the numbness is gone and there’s only fire and hope.

Now there’s Sara. Where this is going, I cannot be sure. I’ve been a bad judge of character before. Too caught up in work to step back and take notice of what was going on in my own home. All I know is that this is what happiness feels like.

I just didn’t remember.

Didn’t remember waking up with more to life than another film, another script, another project. Waking up wanting to fuck life the way I want to fuck the woman lying next to me.

I groan and shift, adjusting my dick before getting out of bed.

I can’t get enough of her.

The way she flirts back, giving me fire for fire.

I’ve got her lying in bed and I can’t wait for more of her.

I step out and phone Jake to check up on the LA projects and his upcoming flight to New York.

Leaving a message, I head to the shower. I rub the back of my neck and relax my muscles, feeling the little she-cat’s claw marks on my back. I twist the knob and make the water cold, trying to cool down the hard-on I got by merely waking up next to her, sleeping naked and smelling like a goddess from above. I step out of the shower, wrap a towel around my hips, and head back into the bedroom. The sound of me shutting the bathroom door behind me stirs her, and her eyes flutter open.

Her breathing hitches as her gaze clears, her breaths becoming more rapid as we lock gazes.

I run my eyes along her lips, drinking in the way she smiles at me from my bed. That adorably innocent smile and those harmless honeyed eyes pack a punch. Fuck, it’s hard to breathe at all.

“Good morning,” I say.

She sits up and pulls the sheets around her. I run my eyes over her smiling lips again, addicted to the sight.

“Good morning.” Her voice is raw with sleep and confusion.

Hell, I’m just as raw and just as confused by all of this.

This is casual. I’m still married—not that it’ll be for long. But still.

“I’ll take care of breakfast.” I jerk my chin toward the hallway leading downstairs.

She nibbles her lip, her eyes gleaming in amusement. “Coffee, too?”

“Espresso.” I’m teasing her.

She winces and watches me dress in plain gray boxers, black slacks, and a crisp white shirt. I zip up, button up, and grab my phone from the nightstand.

“I don’t take—”

“Espresso. I remember.” I smile at her, and she comes out from under the sheets. I watch her eyes widen when she realizes she’s naked, and she quickly laughs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you have a sweatshirt I could wear, or…”

“Help yourself to my closet. I’ll watch out for the coffee delivery. Meet you downstairs.”

I head to the kitchen and decide to show off my French toast abilities.

When she meets me there, I tell her, “Considering you’re into everything French, I’ll make you French toast.”

She smiles and peers into the fridge. “Good. I’ll show off my perfect hardboiled eggs for you, too.”

I chuckle and shake my head as we get everything cooking. We serve two plates and set them on the kitchen counter and have breakfast in silence with Sara’s leg draped around one of my thighs, my hand on her knee.

“You make a badass French toast,” she says. She takes a sip of coffee and pushes her empty plate aside as she boosts herself up on the counter. I stand and wedge myself between her legs, parting them to make room for me.

Our eyes lock, hold. “So you think you’d like to do this again?” I set my coffee aside.

She seems flustered, but typical Sara, she tries to hide it behind sass. “I might if you wash the dishes.”

I sass her back. “I have people coming in to do that.”

She laughs. I pry her coffee from her grip and set it aside, gentling my voice. “Answer me, Sara.”

She meets my gaze. “I had a great time last night,” she says softly.

“So did I.” I wrap my hands around her waist. She smiles and reaches out to set her hand on my arm, and my muscles tighten.

My entire frame tightens. Hell, I’m in an odd, bewildered state where I’ll do anything she tells me.

She’s breathing fast, looks wound up and ready to be loved, and a heat rises up in me as if I were exclusively made to accommodate her.

We share a look.