I felt his breathing change from the deep, unmonitored rhythm of sleep to something shallower.
He was surfacing, coming back through the layers. I tracked his arrival by the tension returning to his shoulders, his breathing becoming deliberate, and the tiny adjustment that meant he was orienting himself.
Peter’s hand pressed down against my chest, just slightly, the reflex of a man confirming that what his body was reporting was real.
“Hi,” I said.
His hand relaxed, his breathing settled, and I felt his forehead come to rest against the back of my neck. It was the gesture of a person who had decided the distance between his face and my skin was unnecessary, and I loved him even more for it.
“Morning,” he said, rough with sleep and lower than usual.
“How’d you sleep?”
“I don’t remember falling asleep.”
“You fell asleep at approximately 12:40 a.m. I know because I was watching. You were mid-sentence about the elephant bloodwork you promised William, and your eyes closed. One second, you were prattling on about potassium levels. The next, you were unconscious.”
“I fell asleep talking about bloodwork?”
“You fell asleep talking about bloodwork. For the record, I found that charming, because only Peter Loupier could follow sex with an elephant diagnostics and make both feel equally important.”
“Both are equally important.”
“I know. That’s why it’s charming.”
He was quiet for a moment.
His hand moved across my chest, his thumb tracing a line along my collarbone that sent information directly to every nerve ending in my body while bypassing my brain entirely.
“This is new,” he said.
“This is new.”
“I haven’t woken up next to someone in two years.”
“Thought so.” I hesitated because, well, I don’t know why. Then I said, “Me either.”
“It’s . . . Wait, you either? You haven’t slept with anyone in two years?”
I could practically feel his surprise through our conjoined forehead-neck situation.
“Nope. Not one. The gays are horndogs, but the whole Asian wrapper doesn’t do it for most of them.”
He didn’t speak for what felt like forever.
“Sorry. That’s . . . terrible. I think you’re very attractive, color-changing hair and all.”
I grinned, though he couldn’t see it. That was basically the Peter version of, “You’re the hottest man on Earth. Henry Cavill, step aside. You’re a Hollywood Hot ten out of ten, my little egg roll muffin batter Twinkie cake.”
Okay, I may have embellished.
Still, it was a huge statement in Peter speak, and Icouldn’t come up with a single reply.
“It’s not as difficult as I expected,” he said. When his words registered, I let out an involuntary snort.
“What?” he asked into my neck.
“That’s the most Peter Loupier compliment I’ve ever received. ‘Waking up next to you is not as difficult as I expected.’ I’m going to needlepoint that on a pillow.”
