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She’s still shaking from the orgasm, and I let go of her hair, lick off her sweetness, then head to the sink to wash my hands. “Want more pineapple now?”
She looks woozy. “Yeah, I do. It’s my favorite fruit.”
“Mine too.”
I serve her breakfast, savoring her post-climax look even more than she seems to be savoring the fruit.
* * *
An hour and another handful of orgasms for her and one more for me later, she slings her bag on her shoulder, leaving my bedroom.
Such a shame. Jules looked so good in my bedroom. Like she belonged there.
She heads downstairs a few steps ahead of me when her gaze strays to the toy truck on the table in the corner of the landing. Last night, she seemed to want to ask more about Zach, but I wasn’t sure what to share so soon into the night. She’s the first woman I’ve been with since my ex-wife, and I don’t know the rules or timelines. But overnight and over breakfast, Jules and I have talked about her fears and my friendships and the way we like to touch. All of those are intimate topics.
So when she says, “Cute truck,” I grab the opportunity.
“That’s mine,” I say dryly.
She stops, turns around. “You like trucks, Finn?”
“Actually, you know what I really like?” I test the waters.
She lifts an inquiring brow. “Besides my ass?”
I laugh. “Yes, besides that,” I say, then just go for it. “I really like building things. Do you want to see a tree house?”
As far as lines go, it hardly counts. I have no idea how she’ll take this suggestion, but I’m compelled to show this fascinating, complicated woman who I am.
The reward? A smile like magic. “I would love to see a tree house.”
I lead her down the steps and out the side door off the kitchen, then sweep out a hand. “It’s the tiniest yard in the city.”
She stares, slack-jawed, at the courtyard-slash-fenced-in-patch-of-grass. Stones line one side of the small space, still covered in lava from our volcano experiment. At the edge, a mere ten feet away, is a tall wood fence. Then, in the corner is the tree, with the Lilliputian house in it.
“This has to be one of the Seven Wonders of New York City,” she says. “Are there even any other tree houses in Manhattan?”
I scratch my jaw. “Good question. I haven’t studied the prevalence of tree houses, but maybe I’ll have my assistant look into it.”
She rolls her eyes as she heads to the tree, then pats the blocks of wood that serve as the ladder up the trunk. “And I thought your bedroom skills were impressive. But this is next level. Did your son…”
She stops as if she thinks it’s against the rules to ask about Zach.
“My kid asked for one, so I built it,” I say, answering her unfinished question.
A laugh bursts from her. “That’s it? That’s all it took?”
“Pretty much,” I admit sheepishly. “I might be a pushover dad.”
She shakes her head. “Nah. I think that’s sweet.” She hesitates for a second, then asks, “Does he love it?”
“He does. I just want him to have a normal childhood. Losing his mom couldn’t have been easy.”
This would be heavy for a one-night stand, if Jules felt like a one-night stand. She seems genuinely interested, not just idly curious, and it’s hard for me tonottalk about my kid. I don’t want to keep him a secret. Hell, I hate secrets.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Finn,” she says, sympathetic despite understandable confusion about the details.
“My ex-wife isn’t his mom,” I explain quickly, then back up the story, giving her a little more of it, and more of myself in the process. “I met his mother eight years ago while I was in Rome on a work trip. She was American. We spent one night together and never exchanged last names.” I sigh, full of regret. If only I’d given Nina my name and number. If only we hadn’t played what seemed like a sexy game of no concrete details. Then I’d have known Zach for his whole life. “Anyway, when she died a few years ago, her parents made it a mission to find me. And I’m so glad they did.”
