Skittles brings my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles gently. “You must’ve been a kid when it happened. Whatever she did, she was an adult and a mother. You were probably just trying to maintain peace in the house.”
Her aquamarine eyes shimmer with caring. The old, twisted piece of ice in the center of my heart starts to thaw, and my chest aches.
I lay my forehead on hers and look her deeply into her eyes. “Stay.”
I see the tiniest flicker of hesitation. This is probably too serious, too fast.
“And this time, don’t try to leave fifty bucks behind and vanish. This penthouse costs, like, at least a million bucks an hour.”
As intended, it makes her giggle. Her lips curve into a small smile. “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Pascal
I stretch luxuriously on the sheet. My muscles feel like warm goo after a good night’s sleep and morning sex. Who knew that orgasms could be such a great way to start a day?
My body still buzzing, I wrap my arm around Court’s pillow, since he isn’t in bed with me, and bring it closer. Mmm. It smells like him, too. I bury my nose there and sigh.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” My greeting is muffled.
“Come on, Skittles. You gotta eat.”
“I don’t want to get out of bed,” I say. “I want to relax.” It’s weird to say that because it’s Tuesday, and I never miss work. But hell. I’m not going to feel bad about it. I promised myself I’d mope for one day, and that day’s over now. I have plans—to indulge myself and sleep in a little. Then go get a job. Show Dad that he’s totally wrong about my place in the world.
“Who said anything about getting out of bed?”
“Huh?” I tilt my head and see Court standing by his side of the bed with nothing but a pair of black shorts…and a tray and a huge Thermos pot. “Oh. Wow.”
“I know. I look good.” He winks.
I laugh. “That you do.” He’s facially stunning—all those chiseled angles and lines. But what I truly admire is his body. The broad shoulders, wide chest and well-muscled back that flow into a tight waist, narrow hips and long, strong legs. Anybody can win a pretty face in the genetic lottery. But you don’t get a body like that without working for it. “And breakfast in bed, huh?”
He settles next to me. “Fried eggs, Pop-Tarts, and toasted bagels and cream cheese. I figured you’d like at least one of ’em.”
I study the plates. The idea of Court cooking for me is incredibly sweet. “Sunny-side up only?”
“That’s the only kind of eggs I can make with confidence. It takes mad skills to not break the yolks.”
“Rocket science.” I smile, arranging the pillows so I can sit more comfortably. “Thank you.
I’ve never had breakfast in bed.”
“You’re welcome.”
Touched by his effort and feeling pampered, I reach for an egg and half a slice of toasted bagel and cream cheese.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
He serves both of us, and I enjoy the morning brew. God. I could get used to this.
“So, what are you doing today?” he asks.
“Making a résumé and sending it out.” Something I never thought I’d have to do until yesterday. Anger and sadness clench around my heart, and I sigh. “There are other jobs.”