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“Time for bed.”
“Oh!” Genuinely startled, she looked at the bedside clock. “Sorry! I got carried away.” She slung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She paused, looking like a teenager caught pilfering her parents’ liquor cabinet. “Um? Home?”
“I thought we talked about this.”
“I thought we talked about having sex. Not, like, sleeping in each other’s arms.” She made a funny face, as if she’d tasted something sour.
“Who said anything about sleeping in each other’s arms?” He grabbed one of the arms in question, and tugged. “I’m just talking about sleeping. You’re a superstar, I get it, but surely you need at least a few hours rest.”
Her expression turned serious. “I’m just trying to follow the rules. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who…”
“What?” Suddenly, he really wanted to know how she’d meant to finish that sentence.
“Like the kind of guy who does sleepovers. Crazy junkie mothers notwithstanding.” She pulled back against his grip, but he didn’t release her.
He sighed. He hated it when she made him confront the contradictions in his psyche. He hated it when she caused contradictions in his psyche. “It’s true that I’m a private person.”
She snorted then, a full-on, completely unladylike snort. All the same, it made him want to pin her down and shove his tongue into her mouth. “He said to the person lounging in his bed, wearing his shirt, up to her eyeballs in his company’s financials,” she drawled.
“Touché.” It was all he could say. Unless he wanted to admit she was the first woman he’d ever let into his bed, much less allowed to spend the night. “Will you just shut up and come to bed?”
She gave up resisting, and he settled her under the covers. Turning out the light, he reached for a remote control on the bedside table and aimed it at the skylight. A shade began to retract.
“Can we leave it open?” she asked.
He lifted his thumb from the button.
“I know it’s stupid,” she said from underneath the duvet. “We’re in the middle of the city, and it’s overcast. But I love this skylight. I like the idea that the stars are just up there, even if you can’t see them.”
He hit another button, reversing the shade’s progress to expose the full expanse of glass. He couldn’t give her anything close to what she deserved. In fact, he could only give her one more night after this. So he could at least let her sleep under the invisible stars.
Chapter Eleven
Cassie awoke warm and cozy under Jack’s duvet. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the white winter sky through the skylight. It looked like snow. She stretched. “Mmmmm.” She sounded like a cat. She felt like a cat. Scooching over—Jack’s bed was enormous—she wondered what they would do this morning. The slideshow of possibilities that flipped through her head brought a grin to her face. Who knew last night’s epic marathon could leave her still wanting more? She fanned her arms out under the mound of covers, intending to wake him, but her fingers glided over nothing but cold sheets.
She was alone in the bed. Well, that was…surprisingly disappointing. But it was a work day. Popping her head out of the cocoon of down, she made out of the sound of the shower.
“Hey,” she called as she walked through the open bathroom door. He stepped out of the shower stall with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Oh, hi!” she said again, startled and unaccountably embarrassed, given all that had transpired the last couple of nights. It was just that he looked like some kind of Nordic sea god, all chiseled angles and wet blond hair slicked down his head. She could still hardly believe she was sleeping with someone like him.
“Hey,” he said, stepping around her to get to the sink. He didn’t look at her as he said, “Sorry to wake you. Last day of work today—the office always closes after the Christmas party until after New Year’s, so I’ve got tons to do.”
“Right, of course.” She spun around and headed back out to the bedroom in search of clothes, swallowing the little lump of worry that had lodged in her throat.
“Shower, though, hang out as long as you like,” he called after her, his voice flat, like he was reciting lines in a play.
“That’s okay,” she said, locating and pulling on her jeans. What had she expected? To wake up in his arms to the swell of violins? To find him looking at her with stars in his eyes? No, she wasn’t that stupid. But maybe she’d expected the generous lover who’d plied her with snacks and insisted she stay the night to be a little…warmer the morning after.
