Page 91 of Wildflower
“I’ve never tried it.”
“Come stay with me on Friday, and I’ll have my chef make it for you,” I whisper against her neck and kiss the soft skin under her ear. “It goes well with buttered toast.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, I need to know we can do this again.”
“You don’t have to do … billionaire stuff on the weekend?”
I chuckle. “What’s billionaire stuff?”
“You tell me. Wealth management, investment stuff? I don’t want to get in your way.”
“Trust me, my wealth managers are paid enough not to need to talk to me every day. I want to be with you.”
There’s the sound of a door slamming downstairs, and Rey stiffens.
“Shit,” she hisses. “Xander.”
“Your brother?”
She nods. “Jesus, I just remembered I think I heard him earlier, actually.” She claps a hand to her mouth. “I hope I’m wrong, but this time it was definitely him.”
“Should we wait here until he goes to sleep?” I ask, and fall back on the pillow, suddenly realising how tired I am. I let my eyelids fall closed and her scent envelop me, and I’m entirely at home in this space. “Let me know when he’s gone.”
I wake up not realising where I am straight away. I hadn’t planned to fall asleep here, but I’m happy to find Rey next to me. Just as I had imagined, just as in my dreams. Her long lashes fan out over her cheeks.
She looks so serene. She’s the most beautiful human I’ve laid eyes on.
I don’t want to look at anyone else ever again.
She’s gone and fucked me up, it seems. I can’t even remember any other woman’s face at this stage.
There’s a strand of hair making its way down her forehead with every breath she takes. I brush it away before it falls over her face, gently tracing a finger across an eyebrow and over her temple, securing the lock of hair behind her ear.
It’s only five in the morning, but this is when I wake up normally. My body clock is hard-wired to it.
I should get home before the morning traffic hits.
“See you later, Rey,” I whisper and kiss her cheek. She lets out a small moan that makes my body ache with need, but I bite down and breathe in to calm myself. “What have you done to me?”
I slide into my crumpled suit trousers and pull on my torn shirt. Jesus, the state of me. I button up my waistcoat andforce the shirt into position. Luckily, I’m just going to the car outside.
Sneaking out of the house at this time shouldn’t have been a problem, but I’d forgotten about the fucking dog.
He’s sleeping on the landing, snoring like an old man. Jesus Christ, that’s loud.
How deeply do dogs sleep?
I tiptoe, something I can’t recall doing since I was a child, hoping it’ll make my movement through the house quieter. But being six foot three and heavy as hell ensures a solid creaking of even the best-laid floors.
Creak.
I hold my breath.
Creak.
The dog rolls over, and his head flops outside his little dog bed. He’s now upside down, with his tongue hanging over his eye and those floppy cheeks melting downwards.
