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“So.” Stevie sips her coffee, glancing at me over her own laptop. She grins, and laugh lines appear at the edges of her eyes.
Eyes that aren’t ringed with purple anymore. She got the sleep she needed last night too.
“When do you have to get back?”
“I can stay through Tuesday. I’ve got a site visit first thing Wednesday at the new brewery—we break ground that day. Think you can come back with me?”
I enter my password and pull up my calendar. Growl when I see I’ve got meetings set up with The Barn Door team that day, plus a tasting for the new spring menu Thursday.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Stevie says.
I grab my coffee off the kitchen table and take a gulp. “Why you gotta make things so damn hard?”
“Hard?” Her eyes flick to my crotch. “Thought we took care of that this morning.”
The image of coming in Stevie’s mouth flashes across my thoughts, causing my dick to twitch.
“Don’t,” I warn, still growly. “For the love of God, I’m never gonna be able to leave this house if we don’t stop with the innuendo. At least before nine AM.”
She laughs, a throaty, full sound, and I’m struck by how gorgeous she looks right now. She’s sitting across the table with her back to the windows. She’s wearing a Blue Mountain robe, bare feet propped up on the edge of the table.
No makeup, and no fucks given.
She’s a CEO at work on a Monday. Glowing from great morning sex and an inbox that’ll keep her busy with work she loves.
I know I’m still glowing too.
This is my life now.
Yeah, the long-distance juggle is going to be a nightmare, at least in the beginning. But if I can figure out how to come back from kissing my brother’s fiancée (to be fair, she was just his girlfriend then), I can figure this out. Being able to wake up next to Stevie makes it all worth the effort.
“Wednesday’s no good for me, unfortunately.”
Stevie nods. “I get it. Not easy being spontaneous when you own a resort.”
“Almost as hard to do when you own a brewery.”
“I thought you said no innuendo?”
I grab my dick through my sweats and give it a lewd little tug. “Can we put that rule into effect next week? I only have another twenty-four hours with you. Not that I’m counting.”
It’s her lush mouth. Her perfect pussy. Her willingness to try new things.
All of that turns me on. But right now, what turns me on most is how she gets it. She understands what a job like mine entails. She understands how much it means to me, and she gets the importance of doing it right.
Yep. Totally hit the jackpot with this one.
Stevie rolls her eyes dramatically, one side of her mouth lifting in a flirty smile. “If you insist, Simon.”
My heart leaps, and my eyes go wide. “Simon?”
“Yeah.”
“You must know only the duke’s closest family and friends may use his Christian name.”
She circles her hand in front of her face and leans forward in a bow. “I do indeed. Might I be so bold as to consider myself among said friends?”
I look at her. Light filling the room. Filling my chest.
“Family,” I say. “You’re family now.”
Her expression softens. “I like the sound of that.”
I wanna pull her to her feet and untie that robe and take her back to bed.
But I can’t wait. I pull her to her feet and untie her robe and take her right here on the table. Our laptops ping with incoming messages as I pound into her, hard and fast. She sighs, comes, then laughs, and I kiss her chest and wipe my cum off the insides of her thighs with my sweatpants.
Light is everywhere. Stevie’s not leaving. Our spontaneity comes not from desperation, but from desire.
“But really,” she says when she sits down, breathless after a quick trip to the bathroom, “we’re never going to figure this out if we don’t stop fondling each other.”
I collapse into my chair. “Sorry.”
My legs feel like Jell-O, and I’m ravenous. I hope that food I ordered from the main house is on its way.
“Don’t be.” She puts her laptop on the table and leans in, a crease appearing between her brows as she scans the screen. “Clearly, we need to work things out in advance.”
“Right. Yes. Send me your calendar so we can plot out the rest of February and March.”
Her fingertips glide over the laptop’s mousepad. “On it.”
Her calendar pops up in my inbox. We spent the next hour slicing and dicing our schedules. I curse; she starts to cry at one point, but then the food arrives, and we eat our Bananas Foster French Toast, and we both feel better.
Nothing is set in stone. We both have to move some stuff around to accommodate each others’ calendars, so we spend the next few hours furiously emailing co-workers, contractors, and committees in an attempt to reschedule calls and meetings.
