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We invited Dad, Reginald, the rest of the staff, and even Patricia, to join us—and we all shared a laugh when Rowan’s eyes turned misty toward the end of The Titanic.
“There was room for him on that door,” he grouched, but hours later, when we were left to watch A Walk to Remember alone, his fingers casually began to roam.
He pulled me onto his lap and we shed our clothes in record time, falling into each other as we have nearly every day since we left Seattle. I begged my heart to behave, but the damn thing was, and still is, disgustingly smitten with him.
All week, he’s tended to my needs and shown me off any chance he’s gotten. ‘My wife’ falls from his lips easily and often, and slowly, I’m beginning to believe it.
“Fucking hell. I thought they’d never leave,” he whispered against my neck, peppering kisses below my ear and grasping my hips in a way that was both gentle and possessive. “I’ve been dying to touch you all day, Molly.”
I wrinkled my nose at my given name and not the nickname I’ve come to adore. “Molly? Can’t say I know her.”
His chest rumbled with a chuckle while his thumb languidly circled my clit, lifting sparks of pleasure to the surface.
“Kitten,” he amended after kissing me sweetly.
“That’s better.” Strong, warm hands groped my breasts while I hiked a brow. “Now, apologize appropriately, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”
I moaned at his responding thrust and how easily he slipped inside me—an undeniably perfect fit—and I rode him in the darkness of the theater room, murmuring his name like a prayer while my heart ran away from me.
“You’re so goddamn gorgeous when you’ve been thoroughly fucked,” he said, pressing our damp foreheads together after we tumbled through another round of mind-blowing releases. “Though it’s impossible to know which version of you I love most.”
My chest stilled when I sat back, but he just smiled up at me lazily, holding me close as he rose to stand. Then he helped me dress before dressing himself, as if what he admitted hadn’t phased him at all.
Love…
Was it possible that Rowan loved me?
It’s the question still on my mind this morning as I run the tip of my thumb across the note he left me.
The scent of bacon and eggs is thick in the air as I make my way to the kitchen, where I find Rowan in a pair of gray sweatpants that hang loosely from his hips. His upper half is bare, save for a single kitchen towel that’s draped over his left shoulder, and dear god, what a view.
He’s got a pair of earbuds in, and I pinch my thighs together at the sight of him relaxed, bobbing his head to whatever he’s listening to while he scrambles a batch of eggs in a pan on the stove.
I peer around the kitchen, looking for Reginald, and I’m surprised to find him and the chef, Victoria, standing by the pantry, fidgeting over Rowan’s every move.
“Uh, how’s it going, guys?”
“Good morning, Molly,” Victoria says. She hardly spares me a glance with her eyes busy darting from pan to pan. “Mr. Kendrick has apparently decided to take over the breakfast duties today.”
“I see it’s going well,” I muse.
A plume of smoke slowly rises from the toaster across the room, and Reginald calls out loud enough for him to hear, “The toast, sir… You’re burning it.”
Rowan jerks his ear buds out of his ears before whipping around to the toaster, abandoning the eggs altogether. “Shit! Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
He drops four pieces of blackened bread onto a plate before giving them a thumbs up.
Reginald massages his temples while I cover a laugh with my hand, but butterflies swarm in my stomach when Rowan’s face lights up the moment he sees me.
“Morning, kitten.” He motions for me to have a seat at the bar and gifts me a wink. “I made you breakfast.”
“Butchered it, more like,” Victoria mutters, making me chuckle.
“All right, all right,” he says as I take my seat. “So maybe I’m not the best cook, but I convinced these two?—”
“Forced us,” Reginald interjects.
“—to let me have a go at it.”
