Page 90 of Bottles & Blades

Twenty-Seven

Tiff

I wakeup to fingers brushing lightly over my forehead.

When I peel back my lids, I see that the room is softly lit with morning sunlight.

Jean-Michel is sitting on the edge of the mattress, dressed in a suit, his face gentle. “Hey, buttercup.”

“Why are you dressed?” I ask blearily.

His mouth hitches up. “Duty calls.”

I shove my elbows under me, sitting back against the headboard, dragging the blankets up with me and tucking them around my naked chest. “You keep telling people thatIneed to rest”—I wrap my fingers around his, squeeze lightly—“but do you ever listen to your own advice?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” I say softly, “I’ve heard plenty of those ‘I’m fines’ in my life.” My lips tip up. “Given plenty too.”

“Baby.”

I don’t know where I find the courage.

Or maybe I do.

Maybe it’s always been there and now I feel safe enough to expose it.

“Don’tbabyme. You’ve slept less than me over the last few days?—”

“I don’t need much sleep.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “Your body needs rest too. You can’t keep going like this—staying up late, getting up early, answering phone calls in the middle of the night, then getting up early the next day and doing it all over again. That’s not good for you and I need you around…”

This is where I run out of steam.

Because…what am I doing? What am I saying?

Who the hell do I think I am to order him around?

“Buttercup, look at me.”

I freeze, realize that I’ve dropped my gaze to my hands without even knowing. And then I look up.

One side of his mouth is curved, humor radiating through his blue eyes.

“I like this.”

“Like what?”

“You throwing me attitude, even first thing in the morning.”

My eyes go wide. “I thought you liked me sweet.”

“I like you any which way.” He slips his hand from mine, uses one finger to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Sweet in the middle of the night. Full of fire in the morning. Sleepy and limp after you come apart on my fingers and tongue.”

Heat slides through my middle, twisting and twining and encouraging me to wrap my hand around his again, to tug hard enough to draw him over me.

To convince him to go further than last night?—

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