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I study the man saying these things about me, and it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, hearing these things for the first time. So many men have whispered sweet nothings to me, all with a motive behind them. These words, though, come from Cash’s lips with a pure quality that could make me cry a whole new set of tears.
It’s like he sees me for who I am, even standing here in these ratty sweatpants and frizzy hair. It’s not about who I pretend to be with Cash. It’s not about the sexy, sex-loving Sage when I’m with him. It’s about just Sage, the woman I want to be, flaws and failures and everything else.
He isn’t standing here with me to celebrate my success. He’s standing here to hold me when I feel like a failure. He’s standing here telling me I’m beautiful when I feel far from it. He’s here to share in all of me, to share all of him with me, and to just be the two people we are. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can be the real Sage, the one who is confident and powerful—but also scared and vulnerable and not quite all put together sometimes.
And that is probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever felt. That’s probably the best gift he could’ve given me: a gift no roses or expensive clothes could outshine. I put my arms around his neck and pull him in closer, taking his lips in mine, owning him with a passion I let fly off the handle.
As my hands wander down the buttons on his shirt, I whisper, “This shirt looks super sexy on you. And I know for a fact you paid a lot for it. But I’m going to have to get rid of it right now, if you’re okay with that.” I pull his shirt apart, popping all the buttons open in a rough but suave move. I peel it off of him, admiring his body as I toss the shirt across the kitchen. He picks me up and puts me on the counter.
“I don’t mind one bit, Miss Everling. In fact, if I had known the shirt would have inspired such fantasies, I’d have asked for the prototype months ago.”
His hands find the hem of my T-shirt, and he helps me lift it over my head. I pull the ponytail holder out of my bun, letting my frizzy hair fall to my shoulders. As we claw and paw at each other, the hunger of a passion unsatisfied since that first time we slept together, I let my mind go numb to the outside world. I put aside the line and Evermore and think about only one thing—the roaring fire I feel when I’m with Cash Creed, and how for once, I’m more than okay with experiencing that.
We spend the afternoon breaking all of our “one and done” sort of rules as we hit three and four and eventually five. Later, curled up in my bed debating over whether we should call for Chinese takeout or pizza, Cash turns to me.
“Today was amazing,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.
And, despite all the things that went oh-so-wrong with today, despite all of the issues with my company and all of the reasons I should be devastated, I couldn’t agree with Cash more.
“Thank you,” I reply, kissing his jawline.
“For what?” he grins, and I playfully hit him.
“For everything,” I say, falling into his eyes again as I fall victim to his hands once more.
* * *
“What are you doing?”Cash asks, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he stumbles into my kitchen. I’m wearing his shirt—and his shirt only—and sitting at the kitchen island, working on plans.
“I’m inspired. I’m drawing up plans and marketing ideas for the next launch.”
“What the hell time is it?” he groggily asks as he stumbles toward me in his boxers, planting a kiss on my neck.
“Five.”
“Jesus. Do you always get up this early?”
I shrug. “Got to get going in the morning if you want to be successful.”
He makes what sounds like a groan as he stumbles over to my Keurig. “I take it you’re not a morning person?” I ask as I motion toward the cupboard with coffee mugs.
“That’s a no.”
“Well, just give me like ten minutes here, and then I’ll whip up some breakfast.”
He pauses at the coffee maker, eyeing me. “You know, I can think of much better things we can do for ten minutes.” He winks at me, and I shake my head.
“Only ten minutes? Please, darling. You’re going to have to entice me with better promises than that.”
He shakes his head as the hot liquid spews out. He wanders over to the island, taking a peek at what I’m working on.
“It’s good to see you inspired, to see you not letting yesterday get to you,” he says seriously, warming his hands on the mug.
I look up at him. “I have you to thank. You helped me get out of my funk.”
“Yeah, well, I guess like six times will do that for you.”
“I think it was five. But who’s counting?”
