Chapter 9 Good Morning, Temptress
Silas
The knock on my office door is forceful enough that I hear it over my headphones.
My gaze snatches on the time—shit, it’s nearly nine o’clock.
I’ve been ignoring everything—the tempting figure of Bailey in my bed, the sunlight filtering in, my own grumbling stomach—and focusing on my laptop.
Echo is curled up on her cat tree in the corner and happily snoozing away while I work.
I scramble from my desk, shoving my chair back and stubbing my toe on the weight rack I keep in my office—these biceps don’t make themselves, ya know—and fling the door open. “Bailey, shit. I didn’t realize it was so late—”
She’s already dressed, arms crossed over her chest—classic defensive Bailey. By the front door, I see her packed bag, sitting there like an accusation.
Fuck. I messed this up by not being in bed when she woke up. I should have been there to remind her first thing in the morning how great this feels instead of letting her get too into her own head about it.
She won’t quite meet my eyes, her jaw set in that stubborn line I know too well. The same woman who laughed in my arms last night is gone, replaced by the Bailey who keeps everyone at arm’s length.
“I should head out.” Her voice is carefully neutral, like we’re acquaintances instead of—instead of whatever we are now.
My chest tightens. What was I thinking getting out of bed this morning? I should have stayed. Should have woken her up with kisses and worshipped every inch of her until she was too boneless and satisfied to even think about those walls.
If only I could rewind this morning.
But actually . . .
“Hang on. Let’s start over.”
Bailey’s mouth opens as I close the door to my office.
When nothing happens, I press my forehead against the wood. “You’re supposed to knock again.”
Silence. Long enough that I start to worry she’s actually left.
“Montgomery,” she says finally, her voice muffled through the door. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Please?” I hate how pathetic I sound, but I don’t care. “Just humor me. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
“You’re impossible.” The exasperated fondness makes my knees weak.
“Impossibly charming?” I try.
A snort. “Don’t push it.”
I wait, holding my breath. “Bailey. Please.”
An irritated puff of air. Then, finally, a knock.
Victory.
I swing the door open, but this time I’m alert and ready. I lean against the frame, one elbow above my head. I’m just wearing my boxers, so I flex too. I give Bailey a slow, cocky smile. “Good morning, temptress.”
“What are you—”
I break her off with a kiss, wrapping my arms around her waist. She’s stiff at first, but when I graze her mouth with my tongue, asking for entry, she sighs and softens, opening up for me.
The kiss rolls on, each of us being greedy with each other. Bailey’s arms come up to wrap around my neck, the press of our bodies against each other making my cock perk up despite the fact that I’ve had barely any sleep.
I pull away just enough to look at her. “Sorry I didn’t stay in bed.
I know waking up alone probably felt like—” I stop, not wanting to put words in her mouth, but she’s watching me carefully now.
“I just . . . when I woke up, I watched you for a while. You looked so peaceful, and I wanted you to wake up so I could see your eyes open, see you smile at me.”
Her expression softens slightly, but the walls are still there.
“And then I realized I have thousands of photos of you calling out to me from my laptop.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself.
“I know that’s not an excuse. I got sucked into editing and lost track of time, and by the time I looked up, it was hours later and you were probably thinking—”
“That last night was a mistake,” she finishes quietly.
“Bailey, no.” I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Last night meant everything. You mean everything. I’m just an idiot who gets tunnel vision when I’m working.”
Her eyes search mine, and I can see her deciding whether to believe me. Finally, her shoulders drop and one corner of her mouth lifts. “You really are an idiot.”
“The biggest.” I grin, relieved. “But I’m your idiot. At least for today.”
The reminder that she’s leaving makes both our smiles fade.
Bailey peers over my shoulder. “You’ve been editing? Anything I can see?”
She can’t see my monitor since it’s facing the other direction. I do have some photos that are nearly done, but I usually like to sit on them and then take a fresh look before I show her.
“Not yet. How about after we eat?”
She hesitates. “All right,” she agrees, and steps back to let me out of the room.
“Why don’t you start the coffee and I’ll put some clothes on. Then I’ll make us breakfast.”
Bailey retreats to the kitchen and I pull on pants and a Henley. My bedroom smells like sex and Bailey and I want to bottle it up.
When I emerge from my room, the coffee machine is chugging away but I don’t see Bailey.
I call her name, and she responds with, “Down here.”
I walk around the kitchen island to see Bailey on the floor, Echo on her lap. My cat is standing on her thighs, rubbing her face against Bailey’s and purring so loud I’m surprised I didn’t hear it earlier.
My heart lurches.
Echo doesn’t do this with anyone. She’s friendly enough—she’ll let Kit and Hunter pet her—but this? The face rubbing, the aggressive affection? This is reserved for me.
Until now, apparently.
“I think she likes you,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
Bailey laughs, scratching behind Echo’s ears. “The feeling’s mutual.” Then she looks up at me, and there’s something soft in her expression. “She’s a good judge of character.”
“The best.” I grab my phone and snap a picture before Bailey can protest. I need to remember this—Bailey on my kitchen floor, my cat in her lap, that smile on her face like maybe she could belong here.
Like maybe she wants to.
Look, I know what you’re thinking. “Silas, it’s been one night. Calm down.” But I’ve been waiting for this since I was fifteen. So yeah, I’m taking pictures of her with my cat. Fight me.
“Stay right there,” I say, my throat tight. “I’ll make us breakfast.”
“I don’t think I have a choice,” Bailey says, as Echo starts kneading her right boob. “Your cat has me hostage.”
“She knows a good thing when she sees it.”
So do I.
I work around them, making waffles and bacon.
My toaster oven sizzles and smokes away, the bacon smell permeating the air so much that Echo raises her head and sniffs.
Bailey scratches her chin and Echo decides chin scratches are better than exploring where the delicious smells are coming from, especially since I never feed her human food.
We talk about the night I found Echo and Raven, and then the time Kit found a family of raccoons in the old mill building on the other side of town.
“Do you remember that time that Kit came home with that huge gash?” Bailey says while I’m pouring the first round of batter onto the waffle press.
“Yup.” I smile down at her, knowing exactly where this is going.
“I still don’t know how it happened.” She looks up at me expectantly. As if just because we’ve slept together now, I’m going to unravel one of the biggest secrets of our childhood.
I mean, I totally am.
“We were at the mill building—”
“Of course you were. I already guessed that part.”
I laugh. “—and we’d just seen that episode of The Office where Michael Scott does the ‘parkour.’” I use air quotes, the spatula in one hand, which drips batter on the floor next to me. I grab a paper towel and wipe it up.
Bailey groans. “What did you do?”
The old mill building was full of abandoned furniture and pipes of dubious usage and a lot of twisty, turny corridors.
Hell, it’s still full of all of that, as far as I know.
“What didn’t we do? We jumped all over that place—badly I might add—and Kit grabbed on to a window frame and the wood splintered.
The glass broke, he fell down. It was a big mess, and fucking terrifying.
” The cut was on his thigh, missing his artery, thank god, but it bled like hell and we knew enough not to pull it out on our own.
But Hunter took charge, calling for help, talking Kit through the pain, keeping him with us.
Hunter’s always looking out for what’s best for us.
The first waffle is done, so I flip it off the griddle and onto a plate. “Toppings?” I ask. I’ve already pulled out options and laid them out on the counter.
“Butter, maple syrup, and some of those strawberries.”
“Classic.” By the time I’ve fixed Bailey’s waffle for her, the bacon is done, so I put two pieces on the plate and hand it down to her.
Echo has settled into the V between Bailey’s legs and is now kneading the soft spot between her hips. Bailey holds the plate up over Echo’s head and digs into her waffle.
A few minutes later my plate is done and I sit down next to Bailey, my back against the cabinet too, careful not to jostle my two favorite ladies sitting on the floor.
“You spoil her,” Bailey remarks.
“Me?” I say, my mouth full of waffle. I swallow. “You’re the one who’s not pushing my cat off your lap.”
“She’s so warm and snuggly,” Bailey protests.
“She’ll be just as warm and snuggly after you eat,” I point out. My cat does not withhold her attention.
Bailey looks down at Echo, considers her, and then shrugs. We both resume eating and I shift closer to Bailey, letting my shoulder brush against hers.
Even though we’re sitting on the floor, this is nice. Really nice.
But it also holds a temporality. After breakfast, Bailey is going to leave.
There’s a puddle of maple syrup on my plate when I’ve finished. Bailey’s already carefully put her plate up onto the countertop. I shift myself to face her, planting a leg between hers and rising to my knees. Echo meows, already upset at whatever’s coming.
She’ll get over it.
I swipe my finger through the syrup and put my plate next to hers before I touch Bailey’s neck. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she squeals. “Hey! That’s cold and—”
I replace my finger with my mouth, angling my head to suck the sweetness off her skin. Maple syrup and Bailey—my new favorite flavor.
Her protest shifts into a moan, her hands fisting my hair. “We don’t have time for—”
“We have exactly enough time,” I murmur against her throat. If she’s leaving today, I’m making every minute count.
Fur brushes my forearm as Echo removes herself from between us and I pull Bailey toward me, easing us down onto the floor of the kitchen. I trail hot wet kisses everywhere I can reach, peeling her top and bra off quickly before sticking my finger back in the syrup and drizzling it on her nipple.
“Silas,” she gasps, arching into me.
There’s laughter and moaning and her soft skin giving between my teeth as I nip her. Bailey’s hands find the hem of my shirt, lifting up, and our hands knock into my cabinets as we untangle me from my shirt. I toss it somewhere behind me—
And then there’s an actual knock on the door.
Bailey chuckles underneath me, breathless. “Who’s visiting you at”—she checks the clock—“ten thirty on a Sunday?”
“No idea,” I say between kisses, not bothering to stop. “If it’s those goddamn solar panel scammers again, I swear to god—”
“Silas?”
The voice is muffled through the door, but unmistakable.
We both freeze.
Bailey’s eyes go wide, her face draining of color. “Is that—”
“Hunter,” I finish, my heart dropping into my stomach.
Bailey looks down at herself—shirtless, syrup on her chest, sprawled on my kitchen floor. Then at me, equally shirtless, hovering over her.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god, he’s going to kill you.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my brain scrambling. “That’s definitely happening.”