“It’s eight. Get up. We’re going for a run around Central Park.”
“Who is?” I frown. He’s in a towel and freshly showered.
“Me and you.”
I scratch my head in confusion. “You had a shower to go for a run?”
“I smelled like sex.” He smirks as he leans down and kisses me on the lips.
I wrap my arms around him and hold him down.
He pulls from my grip. “Come on.”
“I have no stuff here. What shoes would I wear?”
“What size are you?”
“Eight.”
“Hmm.” He puts his hands on his hips and thinks. “Well, you can wear some of mine.”
“I’ll fall over and break my neck, Jameson.”
“Hmm, okay.” He disappears into the walk-in closet and comes out in black Nike shorts and a blue Nike T-shirt.
I smirk when I see him.
“What?”
“Are you sponsored by Nike today or something?”
He looks down at himself and smiles. “No, it just happens to be comfortable.”
“Like this bed.” I smile sleepily as I snuggle back under the covers.
He sits down to put his shoes on, and I watch him for a moment. “So how does this work?” I ask.
“How does what work?”
“Well . . .” I pause as I try to articulate what I want to say without sounding needy. “I’ve never done this casual thing before.” I shrug shyly. “How do we navigate this? When do we see each other?”
“Well . . .” He bends to tie his shoe. “We just play it by ear, I guess.”
I frown. But what if he didn’t call? I’d be waiting all week. Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. “I think I would prefer set days.”
He frowns. “How many days?”
I shrug. Shit, did that sound clingy? I’ll play it down. “One day a week.”
“I want to see you more than once a week,” he scoffs.
“You do?”
He smiles, knowing exactly what I’m doing. He stands and then leans down and kisses me. “Yes, three times a week.”
I try to hide my smile. “What days?”
“Do we have to have set days?”
“I kind of do.”
“Why?”
I shrug as I twist the blanket between my fingers, embarrassed by my neediness.
He puts his finger under my chin and brings my face to his. “Why, Emily?”
“Because I hate waiting around, and then we know not to plan anything else on our days.”
“Okay.” He puts his hands on his hips. “When do you want to see me?”
“Maybe twice through the week and once on weekends.” I hesitate as I watch for his cues. “But only a few hours each time, of course.”
“No.”
Shit. I’m going too far with my demands here.
“Two full nights through the week and one full night and half a day on the weekend.”
I smile. “Half a day.”
“Yes, starting today. I want my half day this morning.”
“Today? Why today?”
“I’m going to go for a run while you go back to sleep. Then I’m coming home, and we are going to shower, and then I’m making you breakfast.”
I smile softly. That sounds really good.
“And then we’re going to come back to bed, and I’m going to fuck you stupid again to get me through another few days without you.” He cups my face in his hand. “Okay?” he asks.
He’s really quite swoony when he’s being nice. I nod as I try to control my goofy smile.
He closes the drapes and then lays me back down and tucks me in and kisses me softly on my temple. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers.
I close my eyes and smile into my pillow, and I hear him leave the apartment.
I roll onto my back and look up at the fancy ceiling.
The man’s a god.
I doze for the next hour and wake as Jameson walks into the bedroom. He’s wet with perspiration and breathing heavily, and I sit up on my elbows as I watch him. “Where the hell did you run to, Antarctica?”
He chuckles and shakes his head, still out of breath.
“You must really run hard, huh?”
He nods as he puts his hands on his hips. “The harder I run, the better the effects.”
“Effects on what?” I frown.
“My stress levels.” He disappears into the bathroom and turns the shower on.
Oh, this is news. He has stress issues? Well, I guess he would. His workload is huge, after all.
“Are you getting in?” he calls.
“Yes,” I call as I amble in. He’s in the shower, and the water is running over his head. His breathing is slowly returning to normal. I get in, and he wraps me in his arms and kisses me softly.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
“Good morning, my Em.” His lips dust mine.
I smile goofily up at him.
“What?”
“I like it when you call me that.”
“You do?” He smiles.
“Your princess Em.” I bat my eyelashes to prove my point.
He chuckles as he picks up the soap and begins to wash me. “I have no doubt that underneath all that snarky Ms. Foster act is a pure sweetheart.”
“I haven’t been snarky once,” I gasp.
He smiles down at me as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “And look how beautiful you are.”
I giggle and lean against his chest. He washes my back, my shoulders, my breasts, and then down my legs. I watch him as he concentrates on his task. Then he moves down to my sex, and his eyes come to mine while he touches me there.
Our eyes are locked, but this doesn’t feel sexual. It feels intimate.
I stare into his big blue eyes, and I swear this isn’t the same man who runs Miles Media. The man with me now is sweet and tender. Everything Jameson Miles is not.
“Let me wash you.” I take the soap from him and lather my hands together and roam them over his broad chest and muscular shoulders and biceps, then down his rippled abs to his groin, and I clench my insides while I wash him there. He leans down and kisses my temple softly, as if knowing I’m holding myself back from pouncing on him. We need to stop having sex all the time; it’s getting ridiculous.
The sexual attraction is so strong that neither of us can get our fill of each other.
“You’ve turned me into a complete sex maniac,” I whisper.
He smiles down at me as his lips dust mine. “I think you already suffered that affliction before we met—if our first night was anything to go by.”
“I’ve never been like this before.”
“Like what?”
“You bring something out in me that no other man has.” My eyes search his. “You’re different from anyone I’ve ever been with.”
The water falls over us, and I don’t know why I just told him that. I can feel myself getting attached, and I don’t know how to stop blurting things out. I’m going to ruin everything.
Stop talking, fool.
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. His tongue swipes through my open mouth, and it’s deep, erotic, tender, and goddamn . . . so fucking perfect that I can’t even deal. “I’m taking you back to bed,” he murmurs darkly.