Page 64 of The Image of You

“The fact that I need to take some.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. This happens every year, but my old boss let it slip. Vivian insists on me taking time off. She was horrified at the amount of time I had accumulated when she took over as head of the ER.”

“Why don’t you take your time?”

She sat up, looking out the window. “There never seems to be any point. I don’t have the money to travel or anyone to travel with. I went with Elena once on a brief trip to New York, but she likes her own kind of thing.” She sighed. “Mostly playing cards and gossiping with her cronies. I hated sitting around the apartment. I take a few days every so often when Vivian demands, and I play tourist here, but that’s about it.”

I sat up, running my fingers along her arm. I leaned in and kissed her V of freckles. “Take some time then—now. With me.”

She looked over, puzzled. “What?”

“Take a week off. We can take some road trips on the bike, sleep in, eat out, and get some time with each other.”

“What about your job?”

I grinned. I’d had another stretch of time here—something rare, but I was pleased to extend it. “I’ll shock the hell out of Sean and tell him I’m taking some time off. If anything happens, he can get someone else.”

Excitement lit up her eyes. “Really? They can do that?”

“Yes. Can they get someone to cover for you?”

She clutched her phone. “I’ll ask.”

* * *

We had days of nothing but us. Rides on the bike. Sleeping in. Late meals. Making love. Talking. Ally’s smiles were bright and contagious. I took endless photos of her. Smiling, laughing, sleeping, even crying while we watched some terrible chick flick she insisted we needed to see. I had captured all her emotions and the way her brilliant eyes projected them. The hues transformed all the time, and I wanted to catalog the changes.

Today, we were having a picnic. She had cooked all morning, while I attempted to help. I was kicked out of the kitchen, after being told in no uncertain terms that trying to fuck her on the counter did not constitute “help.”

I did it anyway.

She was too sexy, wearing one of my shirts, with her hair piled on her head, and her bare feet thumping on the floor as she moved around, humming softly to herself. Around her ankle was one of my leather wristbands. I had slipped it on while she slept, the caveman in me liking how she now had a piece of me on her body. When she woke up, she had lifted her leg, the black of the leather a dark stripe on her ivory skin, and studied it, running her fingers around the thin circlet, then she smiled. She knew what it meant to me to see it on her.

Watching her hips move in time to the music as she stirred something in a bowl was too much to resist. My shirt ended up on the floor. She ended up on the counter, and my face ended up between her legs.

She did scream my name—twice.

Once while I fucked her with my tongue, and once when I buried myself deep inside and took her hard and fast.

The way I told her I would.

Even now, looking at her across the blanket from me, I wanted her. I glanced around at the trees—they were thick and plentiful, and the place mostly deserted this time of day. We were in a private little area we’d found on the edge of the park.

I could pull her onto my lap and bury myself inside her. She was even wearing a skirt.

How convenient.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she sang out as she popped a grape into her mouth.

“Mind reader now, are you?”

“No.” She indicated my lap and the prominent bulge I was sporting—a constant state, it seemed, when she was around. “Body language.” She shook her head. “Is that all you think of?”

“Not my fault you’re so fucking sexy.” I patted my knee, leering at her. “Why don’t you come over here, and we can talk about whatever…pops up?”

She started to giggle. The giggling became laughter, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to hold in her mirth.