Breathing heavily, I fall forward, bracing myself on either side of her with my forearms.
“Lay on me,” she whispers, pulling me in tighter despite my attempt not to crush her.
“Okay?” I ask, giving her more of my weight.
“Perfect.” She tips her head back and kisses me thoroughly.
We lie like that for a few minutes, reveling in our mutual releases as we exchange languid kisses.
Once our breathing has leveled out, I can’t help but ask, “You’re sure I’m not crushing you?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Stay just like this,” she requests. “You feel so good, and for once, everything is quiet.”
“I’ll stay like this for as long as you want me to,” I assure her.
I’ll spend the entire night buried inside her, blocking out the world, creating this perfect moment of bliss if that’s what she needs. I’ll do anything for this woman, honestly. And while that thought should terrify me, all I feel is utter satisfaction and brazen contentment with her in my arms.
CHAPTER 40
EVANGELINE
Flopping to my side, I shove away the heavy blankets bunched up around my face. The room is still dark, and I’m warm. Like way too warm. That’s probably what woke me. That, or the caffeine in the second scoop of mocha gelato.
I twist under the covers, keeping my movements gentle so I don’t wake Alaric. But when I turn to my other side and find the space beside me empty, a bolt of panic hits.
I sit up too quickly, my head spinning, and scan the room. He’s not here—I’m completely alone.
Shrouded in a sense of foreboding, I grab for my phone on the nightstand. According to the screen, it’s 3:32 a.m. Maybe he’s in the bathroom?
Quietly, I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the en suite, using my phone as a flashlight.
On my way, I snag Alaric’s shirt off the floor, shoving my arms through the sleeves and securing a few of the buttons so I’m not walking around his house completely naked.
I push into the bathroom, only to find it empty.
Though I suppose empty isn’t the right way to describe it. Because while it’s devoid of the man I’m looking for, the floor and countertop are littered with all kinds of stuff.
I flick on the light switch, wincing at the sudden brightness of the room, and as my eyes adjust, shame trickles through me.
My clothes and makeup areeverywhere.
We rushed to get ready for dinner, hence the massive mess. One ofmy suitcases is open in the middle of the marble tiled floor, clothes bursting out of both sides as if it’s been ransacked. A few stray pairs of underwear frame the open suitcase like confetti. Is that my strapless bra hanging from the faucet of the soaking tub?
My toiletries are scattered all over the vanity, some of the bottles on their sides with a few even on the floor. My mascara is still open and—shit. I left my straightener plugged in. I stalk over to it and yank on the cord.
A deluge of embarrassment crashes around me.
I’m a fucking disaster. How did I create this much chaos in such a short amount of time?
Did Alaric see what I did to his gorgeous, palatial bathroom and decide to sleep elsewhere?
The urge torunthrums through every limb.
Except I can’t flee this scene. I made this mess. I’m in a foreign country. It’s the middle of the night. I have nowhere to go, and even if I did run away from this, it wouldn’t help the situation.
Get a grip, Evan.
I wasn’t a classic eloper as a kid, but throughout my adolescence, the urge to get up and leave would hit hard and fast. I’d look forward to a party, only to discover that I couldn’t wait to leave once I arrived. As I got older, many of my nights out with friends ended long before last call.
