Because I do have it bad for him. I like all these sides of him so much. And most of all, I like how I can be myself with him.
Nothing about this moment feels like a hookup.
But I know it has to be.
Even when we get in bed. Even when he ropes his big arms around me.
I know it can only be sex, so I don’t understand why I can’t just let that be.
24
Jackson
My boss is a cover hog and a starfish.
I’ve never known anyone to take up so much of the bed.
I wake up wedged into a sliver along the edge of the king-size mattress. Stone occupies 89.9 percent of the real estate, sprawled out on his stomach, long legs and muscular arms everywhere.
My gaze drifts over his body, cataloging the ink on his skin, the toned lines of his back, the shape of his thighs.
Not a bad sight to wake up to, even in my wafer-thin section of space.
The light plays on his body, rays of morning sun illuminating his tanned skin. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s eight thirty on Saturday morning. I never sleep this late, but I went to bed past two. Terrence is probably on duty now, and that means I’ll need to let him know what’s going on. But knowing the guy, I doubt he’ll be surprised, or bothered.
Stone has a busy day today—press appearances and a lunch meeting with his label, since the producers are in town. I’ll wake him up in an hour to make sure he doesn’t miss anything.
I glance at my sleepover companion again. He’s already tangled in a new position. He’s on his back now, his hands parked behind his head, a grin on his face, his lips fluttering softly.
He smiles when he sleeps.
My stomach kind of . . . flips.
I close my eyes, letting the moment take over me fully. Spending the night with another person. Waking up next to another person.
But it’s not just being with another person. It’s being with . . . him.
With this man who fought for me last night.
Who said, for all intents and purposes, Make a choice. Be in this. Choose me.
That’s not easy to do. That’s not easy to say. Sure, on the one hand, it’s simple for Stone because he has freedoms I’ll never know. Freedoms born from money, fame, talent, and privilege.
But money can’t shield you from emotions. Money can’t protect you from hurt. And he laid himself on the line for me. Told me what he wanted—me.
What the hell?
It’s just a week. Just a deal. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
A part of me wants to, so I decide to get some space.
I quietly swing my legs over the mattress and pad around the foot of the bed, but when my eyes catch sight of him twisted on his side now, one leg practically perpendicular, I can’t resist. I bend down, run my fingers over his hair, and press a kiss to the soft strands. As I close my eyes, a brand-new warmth flows through me from kissing him in the morning, in the bright light of day.
My chest glows with possibility.
With images of daylight and good times.
Of him and me, wherever we go.
Of us together in public.
Not a ship.
Something more than a hashtag.
I open my eyes and shake my head because that is some next-level crazy talk.
No way is that in the cards. This tryst isn’t for daytime or for the public. It’s nighttime and secrets, and I’d do well to remember that. Always.
I head to the bathroom, take a piss, wash my hands, and brush my teeth, then grab my boxer-briefs. I tug them on and head to the living room, snag my phone, and click on my Spanish app.
Best to laser in on anything but him.
I do just that as I work through some phrases.
But thirty minutes later, a sexy-as-sin man appears in the living room doorway, clad in lounge pants, dragging a hand through his messy morning hair.
And all my energy returns to Stone.
He’s a good sight first thing in the a.m.
He sweeps a hand across the air. “News flash. Jackson Pearce wakes up first. Shocking secrets of my night with the bodyguard babe I’ve been wanting to bang.”
I take the ball, run with it. “The story that can now be told—the celebrity who doesn’t get his lazy ass out of bed till noon.”
Affronted, he stares at a watch he doesn’t wear. “Au contraire. It’s nine fifteen. Also, what the hell kind of sleepover buddy are you? The bed was empty when I woke up. I was so sad,” he says, frowning. He crosses the living room carpet, flings himself on the couch, and drops his head in my lap. Stretching out, he sets his feet on the arm of the couch.
I ruffle his hair. “Someone is a bed hog.”
“Aww, not enough room for you to spread out?”
“Not enough room at all. You take up the whole mattress, man.”
“I had to escape from you.”
“Escape from me?”
“You were all wrapped around me.”
“I was not,” I deny.
He pokes my side. “You’re such a cuddler. Does anyone know that you’re the ultimate snuggle puss? You get all close to me, and you sigh contentedly in your sleep when you’ve got me in your arms.”
My cheeks heat again. “Dude, why are you mocking me for cuddling you in the middle of the night?”
Stone grins evilly. So damn evilly. “Because you tickled me.”
“And this is payback? Telling me you were trying to escape from me?”
A frown creases his forehead. “Hmm. I didn’t think this through.”
“Yeah, I’d say insulting my desire to cuddle with you in the middle of the night is not conducive to—”
He launches himself at me, grabbing my arms, pinning them down, and climbing on top of me.
“What the—?”
He nuzzles against me, burying his face in my neck, then whispering a confession. “I would never escape your cuddling.”
“Good,” I say, and I stretch my neck, giving him room to sweep those hungry lips across my skin.
He answers me without words, giving me kisses that make me shiver.
His grip on my wrists eases up, so I slide my hands down his body, wrapping my fingers around his waist as he works his way across my throat, to my Adam’s apple, to my jaw.
“Mmmm. You feel good in the morning,” I say breathlessly.
“You too.” His voice is husky as he wraps his hands around my head.
“So good,” I murmur, dragging his mouth back down to mine so I can kiss him again, slow and soft and endless, and he kisses me back with that same gentle passion.
His kisses undo me.
He kisses me like I’m the best thing his lips have ever touched.
This morning kiss is different than our nighttime kisses. Different than our hallway kiss.
Than our limo kiss.
This is a lingering, slow slide into each other.
My mind goes hazy with longing—so much longing as our lips explore each other, like this terrain is all new, all wonderful.
And it is.
Getting to know his mouth, his taste, his need is a perfect adventure.
My whole body tingles, even my toes.
At some point, we break the kiss, both breathing hard.
“You can kiss,” I say, kind of amazed. But I’m not amazed that Stone can kiss. It’s more like I’m amazed that I get to experience this kind of make-out session.