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“Yes,” I answered before remembering a slight problem with that plan. “But Layla?—”
Reagan turned and slapped a hand over my mouth. “Ew. We are not talking about Layla. Not in this room. Don’t ruin my glow.”
I huffed out a laugh against his warm hand before kissing his palm. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said, relaxing back onto the pillow. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Okay,” I repeated. It was a word I imagined saying to him over and over again if given the chance.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Now, be a good boy and fetch me a washcloth or something. I have spunk all over me, and it’s mostly your fault.”
I snorted. I enjoyed his prickles, his teasing nearly as much as I liked it when he showed me glimpses of the vulnerability beneath. Knowing him well enough to see his various defense mechanisms felt like a gift. One I wanted to enjoy for as long as I could.
I got up and went to the tiny bathroom to do as he asked. When I came back and began to clean him up myself, he seemed surprised. The light from the bathroom illuminated his expression.
“Gimme the cloth. I can do that.”
“Obviously.” I happily continued my task. “You’re very capable.”
He grumbled but allowed me to care for him. When I was finished. I returned the cloth to the bathroom and turned off the light before sliding into bed next to him and pulling the covers over us. Reagan snuggled up against me unapologetically. I wrapped an arm around him and pulled him even closer.
After a few minutes of silence, his voice sounded sleepy but firm. “Don’t change your mind.”
I hesitated before responding. “Reagan…”
His voice was less sleepy this time. More firm. “Not kidding, Thatcher. You, me… this is good, right? And I’m tired of fighting how much I want you. So don’t fucking change your mind.”
“It is good. And I want you, too.” Part of me wanted to leave it at that, to enjoy our time together and let things happen naturally, but I owed him the truth. “But I’m also a realist. All the reasons we’ve been fighting it are still there—” I didn’t need to spell them out.
“Just for this trip, then,” he said quickly. “We can be together until we’re back in New York.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath. “Just for this trip.”
As I fell asleep, my brain continued to tackle the issue, desperately seeking a solution. The trip would be another eight… no, I realized with a pang, seven days. It didn’t feel like enough. But how could it last longer? Openly dating a junior employee wouldn’t be good for either of our reputations. I couldn’t imagine telling Trent that I was dating his son. And my track record with relationships was… well, any tabloid reader could explain in detail why I shouldn’t bother trying for a long-term relationship.
But somehow, despite these swirling thoughts, I managed to sleep better with Reagan pressed up against me than I had on any of the nights I’d managed to stay away. I was still deep asleep when my brain figured out the buzzing in my dream was actually the buzzing of my phone in real life.
I grabbed it off the nightstand and answered with a mumbled “’Lo?”
I expected it to be January or possibly Thalia and had just enough consciousness for a spark of worry about Brantleigh before I recognized Trent Wellbridge’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Thatcher, sorry to bother you first thing in the morning.”
Reagan must have recognized his father’s voice because he lifted his head off my chest, and his body jerked against me. Our eyes met in shock as memories of the night before flooded my mind.
“Trent,” I said as casually as I could. “This is a surprise. Are you calling for Reagan?”
Reagan shook his head, his eyes huge.
“Reagan…? Oh. No, no. I was calling to chat with you. Although I heard from Jonathan that you’d taken Reagan along on a business trip of some sort. Going well, I assume?”
“Yes. Even better than I’d imagined.” The absurdity of the situation hit me, and I ran a hand over Reagan’s shoulder.
Trent had never called me to “chat,” that I could recall, and I was profoundly annoyed that he’d decided to start now. But when I glanced down at his son, who still looked thoroughly debauched from taking my cock last night, I managed to find an extra supply of patience.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
Reagan moved slightly, an innocent gesture that made his naked leg rub against mine, and I found myself growing incredibly, inappropriately hard. I braced my feet against the bed and shifted myself up against the pillows.
