Walk by her own choice and not from any type of fear or demeaning words, which she’d been so used to in the past. But not run because the pain and disgust had become so unbearable. She wasn’t giving in; she was standing for what she wanted. Because deep down she knew she wanted to sleep in that bed with Maurice tonight.
“I’ll stay.” She let go of the dress. “But I sleep on the left side, closest to the window, and I like more pillows than covers, just in case you like to hog the sheets.”
He grinned and tossed her dress onto the chair with her coat and purse. “I’ll try my best to accommodate you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
IT HAD ONLY been his goal not to take all the sheets last night. Rolling over and staying plastered to the back side of her body wasn’t what he’d thought would happen. That’s when it occurred to him that maybe he should stop planning and assuming what would happen between them this weekend; so far, he’d been wrong on two accounts.
Maurice wondered what time it was when he opened his eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of whatever type of product she used on her hair. He could’ve moved a little, lifted his body up to see over her to the alarm clock on the nightstand, but he was really comfortable where he was. His arm draped over her waist, her butt cradled against his morning arousal.
He knew it was morning. They hadn’t closed the curtains all the way last night so about six inches of light peeked through. It slashed across her shoulder, giving her skin a shimmering glow. Without thought, he placed a soft kiss on that spot. Then another before telling himself he was being ridiculous.
Tender, romantic, thoughtful—he could be all those things when he wanted to. But he hadn’t wanted to in a very long time. He wasn’t an ass: he knew how to pour on the charm—it was actually part of his natural personality—and he knew how to say all the right things. The latter was pretty much common sense. Besides, the women he dated didn’t require much. They already wanted him. If they hadn’t made that perfectly clear right from the start, he probably wouldn’t have pursued them. If they weren’t looking for flowers, candlelight dinners and gifts on Valentine’s Day, then they definitely weren’t looking for love—which kinda went hand in hand with all that romance stuff. They could focus on a good time otherwise.
The real point behind his methodology for dealing with women was simple: India Frazier. He’d loved India, as much as an nineteen-year-old could love someone. But his love or infatuation or whatever it could be called had left India paralyzed and him forever scarred. For months after the accident he’d been on the brink of an emotional breakdown, repeatedly going over in his mind the moment he made the decision to pick India up in his new car and ultimately put her in harm’s way. Besieged with guilt over the situation he’d so callously put the person he’d loved in, he vowed it would never happen again. He’d never fall in love or put his emotions over common sense again.
Des didn’t seem the type to need all those material proclamations, anyway. And, like him, she wasn’t looking for anything permanent. She did, however, demand respect and honesty—which he could definitely do.
“What time is it?” She lurched up in the bed, her shoulder slamming into his mouth, which was still pretty close.
Pride kept him from crying out when he thought he might be tasting a little blood from the collision. Instead he pressed his finger to his lip as he reared back, and a hasty glance at his hand provided relief when there was no blood to be seen. “Not sure. Just woke up.” She didn’t need to know he’d been enjoying the quiet and the feel of her closeness for a few minutes now.
“Oh no!” She rolled out of his grasp and reached over to the nightstand to grab her phone. “Why didn’t my alarm go off?”
He wasn’t a morning person at all, so he lay back on the pillows and dropped an arm over his eyes. “What time is it?” He knew she was a morning person because she was in the office by seven every day of the week. Weekends he wasn’t sure, but since today was Saturday and she was obviously freaking out, it was a good bet that she woke up at the crack of dawn every damn day.
“Oh no! It’s nine forty-five. I should’ve been up by now.” He lifted his arm and peeked out to see her fingers moving busily over her phone. “I can’t believe all the messages I’ve missed. I’m usually up by now checking and...ugh, I just don’t know how this happened.”
He did, and he tried like hell not to smile. “Well, you know what they say about good sex?”
She glared at him over her shoulder, that slash of sunlight casting her face in an ethereal hue. “No. I don’t know what they say.” Her lips were tilted upward in the cutest smirk he’d ever seen, and he tried not to grin.
Losing the battle, he replied, “Good sex’ll put you to bed right.” He laughed so hard at his own joke he didn’t see when she reached for the pillow and threw it at his face.
“Nobody says that, you goof.” He could hear the smile in her voice, so she wasn’t angry. “And I’m serious. I’m usually up by now. Plus, and I’m sure this will interest you, we missed the first activity on the agenda this morning.”
He did sober, just a little, at that statement. Enough so that he leaned over to see her phone screen.
