He wanted ten more minutes before reality seeped back in.
“Later,” he said.
“That usually means never.”
“It’s classified.”
She studied him another second before she climbed into bed and tucked herself in. “Fine. But I’m stealing your toast.”
He handed it over gladly, knowing what bound him and Jolie together was doomed but wanting it anyway.
* * * * *
Jolie nibbled the toast crust and eyed Archer from beneath her lashes. He stood beside the bed in a pair of low-slung jeans. Sleep mussed the short, dark strands of his hair just made for her fingers.
The overhead light was a bit too harsh, but it highlighted the hard planes of his chest and carved ridges of his stomach, showcasing a body sculpted by discipline.
She set the toast back on the plate and crawled across the bed to him—because dammit, a woman could only be so strong.
Kneeling on the mattress in front of him, she tilted her face up to his. “Everything okay?”
He grunted one of his masculine noises that might get on some women’s nerves, but to Jolie, they were a form of communication she was learning how to read.
He reached out and cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.
He came up against the side of the bed, his thighs warm against hers and his six-pack abs far too distracting at this range.
“There’s bacon.”
“I noticed.”
“And coffee.”
“I’m deeply impressed.”
She narrowed her eyes in a playful glare. “I can give it to one of the other guys.”
He caught her wrist before she could pretend to reach for the tray.
They settled into bed side by side, the tray balanced between them. They ate in companionable silence even thoughshe burned to ask what happened between him and Rome that caused tension to flood the room.
Their shoulders bumped as they both reached for their coffee mugs, and she felt a little breathless when their eyes met.
Other mornings-after in her life had been awkward, but not this.
It felt absurdly easy.
When he set his empty mug on the tray, he searched her face. She couldn’t help but feel like he was memorizing her, maybe the same way she had watched him before she slipped out of bed.
She moved the tray to a stable spot at the foot of the bed and slipped to her feet. “I’m going to take a shower.”
His gaze roamed over her in a slow, lazy pass that made awareness creep low into her stomach. “I’ll join you.”
She gave him a coy look, and he chuckled, his smile too devastating to her senses.
“Go start the water. I’ll take this back to the kitchen.”
As she walked to the bathroom, her legs felt too wobbly. Probably from the memory of his tongue moving between them last night.
