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Fuck me.
She’s arching beneath me … moving with me …
“Kayla.”
“I’ve got you.” Her hands press against my back. “I’m right here with you, Gavin.”
Those words … ah hell … I don’t know if it’s the sound of her voice, or the way she’s convulsing around me, screaming my name, but I can’t hold back. I follow her over the damn cliff into pure fucking bliss.
I think I’m in love this woman.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure I don’t say those orgasm-fueled words out loud. But even if I did, I feel too damn good to care.
A second later, I roll to her side, panting hard. I draw her close with one arm, while my other hand works to remove the condom. I toss it to floor, silently promising to clean up in the morning. Right now, I can’t let her go. I need to hold Kayla close.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “That was an amazing first-night performance. Auditioning for a repeat?”
“Something like that. Tomorrow,” I murmur. I’m drifting off to sleep. Every muscle of my body’s relaxed, and I have Kayla curled against my side.
“Tomorrow,” I try again. “I want to end tomorrow just like this.”
“Sticky and naked?” she asks.
Feeling as if I’ve reached the pinnacle of fucking happiness.
Yeah, I might be halfway to dreamland, but I’m not going to say those words out loud. Instead, I murmur, “Sticky and naked works. As long as I’m with you.”
CHAPTER 17
KAYLA
“When were you planning to tell me you’re getting remarried?”
“Hi, Mom.” I pull Luna away from the discarded brown paper bag lying across our favorite Central Park path—although “favorite” might be a bit of an exaggeration. We haven’t even been here a week. Certainly not long enough to have preferences.
But long enough to sleep with a man I’m not planning to marry.
“Gavin and I were going to call you,” I say, leading Luna and her Labrador appetite farther from the nearby trash bin. Half of New York seems to have missed the green receptacle marked waste judging by the items on the ground. “We’ve been busy settling the dogs into New York City.”
“Your mother should be the first person you call when you accept a marriage proposal.”
Okay, she sounds like she’s reciting a rule from Emily Post’s Manners Guide, but she has a point. “I know. I’m sorry, Mom. We were just …”
Preoccupied with Gavin’s blackmailing former lover.
“You’re not sure it will last,” my mom says.
In the background, I swear I hear the sound of a golf cart. I picture her whirling around her gated retirement community, waving to the neighbors as she heads for the driving range. Her life sounds like a retiree’s fairy tale. But I know there have been bumps along the way. We lost my dad to cancer when I was in college. After that it took her years to find her place in the world. Then she discovered golf and fell in love with the sport.
“Mom—”
“To be honest, sweetheart, I think you’re right,” my mom continues.
“I am?” I don’t hear those words a lot from my mom. She hated Mr. Mistake before I even married him. But I’d spent too many years in a world where my mother was always right that I refused to listen. Then again, Gavin probably filled her in on the details of our plan. She’s probably teasing me.
“I love Gavin,” my mom says. “But after all he’s been through in his life, I’m not sure he’s the best fit for you.”
Does she know we’re pretending?
