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Opening my eyes, I turn my head on my one pillow and forget the absence of everything familiar. She’s on her back, the duvet entwined around her legs and finishing at her waist, one arm over her head, her face turned in to it. She looks dreamy. Gorgeous. So fucking peaceful.
I gingerly turn my body onto my side to face her, propping myself up on a bent arm. Her chest rises and falls steadily, calmly, her lips parted a fraction. Naturally, I make the most of my opportunity, studying her, every tiny piece, from the hair on her head all the way down to the tips of her toes. Every inch of her, inside and out, is beautiful.
I reach forward and kiss her tummy, and she stirs immediately. I feel her hand rest on the back of my head and stroke sleepily, and I smile against her skin. She probably has no idea what she’s doing right now, which makes her gesture even more touching.
I wait for her feeling fingers to stop before I break away, happy she’s fallen back into a deep sleep again. Then I gently peel myself away and throw on some sweats, leaving Hannah to her dreams. I hope they’re happy dreams. I hope I’m the starring role.
I turn at the door when I make it there, looking back at the unusual sight of a woman in my bed. Except it doesn’t feel unusual. It feels perfectly normal.
Kind of . . . right.
I smile to myself as I head for the kitchen to make some breakfast, checking the time as I drag the pan out. Eight o’clock. Shit, I never sleep in this late. I feel energized. Content. I look down the corridor to my bedroom as I set the pan on the stove, unable to stop my smile growing. There’s a woman in my bed, and I have absolutely no desire to remove her.
Being sure not to make too much noise, I set about preparing breakfast, my absolute favourite, whistling happily while I go. When the stove throws up a bit of smoke, I rush to open the door to get a bit of ventilation. The scattering of twigs and branches reminds me of last night’s storm, as well as the heavy damp smell of kicked-up dirt. But it doesn’t overpower the smell of Hannah that’s lingering on my skin. I lift my arm to my nose and inhale. I never want to shower again.
Leaving the door wide open, I head back to the kitchen and pull down two plates before collecting the pan.
‘Morning.’
I look up and find Hannah across the room, her eyes sleepy but bright, her body covered in one of my old lumberjack shirts. ‘Wow,’ I breathe, unable to hold back my awe as the pan hangs in my limp hand.
She looks down her front on a demure smile. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’ She tugs at the hem on her thigh as I rest the pan on the counter, moving in closer to conceal the twitching happening behind my sweats. It takes everything in me not to abandon breakfast, seize her, and take her straight back to bed.
‘Not at all.’ I realign my focus and serve up breakfast before I succumb to that temptation. ‘Hungry?’ I head for the freezer.
‘Starving.’ She moves across to one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter, settling as she watches me.
I spoon out two huge dollops of my vice onto the pancakes and push her plate across to her. She looks at it with a grin but doesn’t say a word, collecting her fork and tucking in. I’m starving, too, but watching Hannah eat is unexpectedly enjoyable. I lean down and rest my forearms on the counter, getting comfortable. ‘Good?’ I ask, despite her little moan of pleasure telling me what she thinks of my favourite breakfast. Alex’s too.
With her mouth full, Hannah nods, pointing her fork at my plate. She quickly chews and swallows. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’
‘Starving.’
‘Then eat,’ she says on a little laugh, popping another helping in her mouth, watching me as she chews. I continue to observe her until her eating slows and she sets down her knife and fork. ‘What?’ she asks, half smiling.
‘How did you sleep?’
‘Very well.’
I nod, knowing this already. I just wanted to hear it. ‘Any regrets?’
Her lips press together tightly, her gaze moving away from me. Is she thinking about it? I push my folded body upright, not liking the small pang of pain in my gut, and I wait with bated breath for her answer. When she looks back to me, I see a steely confidence in her eyes. I’m not sure I like that, either. Wasn’t last night amazing for her? Our connection was palpable.
‘Hannah?’ I say, my voice evidently broken.
‘I don’t regret a thing,’ she virtually whispers. ‘It was the best night I’ve ever had in my life.’ Do I see tears in her eyes? ‘You?’ she asks, and then inhales. She’s bracing herself.
