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“There are so many. The whole floor is yours?”
“Yes, but that one with the view of the ocean—that one, love is where I’ll take off all your clothes.” I pressed my finger along the hollow of her throat.
Her pulse beat rapidly.
“I’ll take you to my bed,” I promised.
I heard her inhale quickly.
Damn it. I was hard. My cock ached for her here and now. Had I ever wanted a woman so badly?
The car slowed as we approached the tunnel to
the private entrance.
My patience had run out.
“What is your decision? Are you going home, or do you want one night with the king?”
6
Molly
I had never known the silence inside a car could be so deafening. My ears rang. My heart pounded irregularly. I could practically hear the blood rush between my ears.
This morning I was working on my dissertation. I used notecards to sort the broader topics. They were scattered on the floor. I wore pajama pants and a tank top. My hair was twirled in a bun with a pencil crammed in the middle to hold the heaviest pieces in place.
Brooklyn walked in, carrying a carton of lo mein noodles. “You have destroyed our living room.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I’ll clean it up after I get the rest of this section nailed down.”
“Let’s go get coffee,” she suggested.
“I can’t. I don’t have time. Look at this disaster.” I covered my eyes with my palms.
She tugged on my arm. “The notecards will be here when we get back. You need some fresh air. And preferably a change of clothes that isn’t pajamas or yoga pants.” She looked over my wardrobe disapprovingly.
“Again. I don’t have time for real clothes. I’m in the middle of the most critical paper of my life.”
I stumbled to my feet and stepped over the circle of index cards.
“I know. I know. But caffeine will put some of that in perspective.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and shuttled me to my room where I shrugged off the pjs and changed into a cute mini skirt.
I pulled the pencil from the bun and let my hair fall around my shoulders.
I met Brooklyn at the door. “Better?”
“God, yes. You look like a human girl,” she teased.
I rolled my eyes. “One quick coffee. That’s it.”
“Got it.”
I had moved to Galona almost a year ago. The country was beautiful. An island the size of Connecticut floating off the western coast of France and just to the north of Spain. It was quintessential Europe. The food was incredible. The art. The music. The fashion. And my God, the wine was amazing. Only, I didn’t get to see much of it. I spent most of my time in the library at Freychon’s Literary Conservatory.
Brooklyn, on the other hand, had dropped out of the program.
We sat outside under the shade of a café umbrella and sipped espressos.
