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When the shower water began to cool, Grant wrapped her in a towel so big and fluffy it felt like a cloud.
“I had no idea you were into luxury bath towels.” She rubbed the thick cotton over her legs.
“I got those for you after you asked to move into the cottage.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, when I was getting the place cleaned up.” He hitched on his pajama pants and returned to the main room.
Rory followed, oddly pleased by the idea of him buying towels for her. She didn’t even buy towels for herself. As far as she could remember, she’d been using Callie’s old hand-me-downs.
Since it was still dark, they tumbled back into bed. Grant wrapped himself around her again, his body a striking combination of solid muscle and a warm haven. Ignoring the persistent feeling that she could get used to this, Rory tucked herself against him.
“So now do we pretend like we’re pretending that we’re real?” she murmured.
“I don’t know about you…” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “But I’m not pretending anymore.”
“Good.” She slipped her arm around his waist and fitted her body to his. “Neither am I.”
* * *
Grant woke just as dawn began to streak across the horizon. He was pushed to the edge of the bed with Rory half-sprawled over him in a tumble of soft skin and silky hair.
He breathed her in and tightened his hold. Her revelation of what she’d endured at some of her past jobs, and what she might be returning to, had forged a white-hot ball of rage right in the middle of his chest.
He knew she didn’t talk about that often, if at all. She’d locked it behind her armor so she wouldn’t seem vulnerable.
While he’d never pretend to understand what she’d gone through, he did know how it felt to be considered less. That was just one of the reasons he’d constructed his own life. It sounded like she’d tried to do that once, too, with the MedCure software system before that fucker venture capitalist had destroyed her opportunities.
Rory shifted, her black hair sliding across his chest, her bare leg slipping between his. She spread her hand over his abdomen and opened her eyes. Blue like the sea. He stroked his finger against her full lower lip. Already his body was stirring with lust again.
“Morning.” He edged his hand under her T-shirt and rubbed her perfect ass.
“Morning.” She leaned in to kiss his chin. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” He slipped his fingers between her thighs.
She caught her breath, but bucked to dislodge his explorations. “Hand me that bag of gummy worms, and then we can get busy again.”
With a groan, Grant reluctantly detached himself from her soft heat. “No way are you eating gummy worms for breakfast.”
He hitched on a pair of track pants and a T-shirt, pushing his feet into his tennis shoes. “Any requests?”
“Your cooking.”
“Give me twenty minutes.” He picked up the tavern keys and started toward the door.
“Actually, I really like cinnamon French toast.” Rory pushed up on to her elbows. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and the sheet barely covered her incredible breasts.
Grant’s heart thumped. She was so damned beautiful. “Okay.”
“And bacon.” Rory pursed her lips. “Coffee, of course. Oh, a cheese omelet would be great. Maybe some fruit, too. Do you know how to cut a strawberry into the shape of a flower?”
He didn’t, but for her he’d figure it out.
In the tavern kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, collected ingredients, and began whipping up a batch of French toast. As the cinnamon toast slices sizzled in a pan, he cracked eggs into a bowl.
Behind him, the door opened.
