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“Like make me coffee and breakfast?”
He nods. “In bed.”
I rise and press against him to hold the sheet up so I can slip my arms around his waist. “You’re like Santa, only better.” His left eyebrow lifts and I’m quick to clarify. “A sexy, younger, fit Santa who brings presents.”
“I’m not sure fresh coffee and warmed up leftovers qualify as presents.”
“In my world they do, believe me.” It’s more than any man has done for me in a long, long time.
“Does that mean you don’t want the real present I have for you?”
“You got me a present?” Somehow, I’m not surprised.
He presses a kiss to my lips. “I did.”
“I want it.” If it’s from Garrett, it will be perfect, I know.
His eyes study me for a moment, and while I wait, my stomach rumbles. He bites back a smile. “Okay, but first some breakfast for you.”
“Deal.”
* * *
The breakfast trayis piled high with all manner of delectable nibbles from yesterday’s brunch menu. They smell divine, but after I stir a generous splash of cream into my steaming mug of dark roast, I set it on the nightstand and reach for the thick slice of chocolate cake. Garrett, propped up on one elbow across the bed, chuckles and takes a sip from his mug.
I savor the first bite and my eyelids fall shut as the dark chocolate ganache melts on my tongue. First the hot sex and now this? Why don’t I indulge more often? It feels so…
“Good?” Garrett asks as my head drops back and I moan.
“So good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
I surface and open my eyes, cutting another small piece off with my fork. “I can’t remember the last time I tasted anything this delicious.”
“I can.”
I meet his gaze and the unspoken tether between us thrums with electricity. We both know what he’s talking about and the words land directly between my legs. A shiver runs down my spine and despite the multiple orgasms last night—or maybe because of them—I want more.
“Are you sure?” I ask, biting back a smile. “Maybe you should try a taste of this.” I offer him the nibble on my fork and he eats it off the tines, but a bit of frosting remains.
“Still sure,” he says, swiping his lip with his thumb.
I lick the bit of frosting off the fork while he watches, his eyes darkening, but just then voices filter through from down the hall. My gaze flits to the door, and I set the fork down. “Expecting visitors?”
He takes a sip of coffee. “I heard they’re with you.”
“With me?”
“Here to collect the flowers.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Cassie’s team of volunteers. “I—” Did I tell him? I didn’t think I had.
“Kendall told me.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
“More than okay.” His lips press together. “Although I did tell her, and my housekeeper, everything’s fair game to donate except for the mistletoe. That’s mine.”
