Chapter 33
ARI
My eyes flutter open, then close again, my mind unable to comprehend why I feel so tired and why my body feels as if it’s gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight boxer.
I grumble, my muscles aching and screaming at me to go back to sleep, so I turn over onto my side to be met by a wall of pure muscle and realize he’s the reason my body feels like a punch bag. It’s a pleasurable pain I will never complain about.
An instant smile shapes my lips and I softly chuckle to myself at how huge he looks in my tiny bed. You could fit my entire apartment into his bedroom.
Last night, after Cirque du Soleil, Nathan and I fucked like rabbits until I tapped out, unable to take any more. He’s insatiable.
Nathan has stamina, that’s for sure; buckets of the stuff.
I drape my arm around his waist and lay my leg over his. He must be just as exhausted as me because he doesn’t even move a millimeter as I snuggle myself into his back.
Content, surrounded by his heady aftershave and everything him, I drift off to sleep to the sound of his steady breathing.
Yeah, this is the life.
When I wake up again, the sunshine is blazing through the bay window of my bedroom, and I groan as my sleep-filled eyes struggle to adjust to the dazzling San Francisco sun.
“Too bright,” I mutter and give my eyelids a quick rub, then I stretch out my stiff body, pushing my hands above my head.
I look through the window at the summer sun. It’s been much hotter than usual and at times I’ve questioned if I was designed for this weather. I much prefer snow to sun and would choose that any day of the week, specifically today when I want to curl up into a ball and hibernate for a month.
I glance at the open curtains I know I didn’t open then snap my head to the side and realize I’m alone. A sense of dread overwhelms me until I spot something on the pillow, the indent of Nathan’s head evidence he was here.
Pulling the comforter under my arms, I prop myself up onto my elbow and lift what looks like a letter off the pillow then smile.
My fleeting disappointment leaves me instantly when I stick my fist into my eye socket to give one then the other a rub and clear my cloudy vision so I can read the neatly penned letter, and I instantly recognize Nathan’s handwriting.
It is very distinguishable with loops and swooshes that all link together seamlessly. I swear he could be a font designer.
Good morning, beautiful,
Fill a weekend bag, we’re off to the family ranch until Tuesday afternoon.
Pick you up at noon. Be ready.
Always yours, Nathan x
I read the letter again, much slower this time, and do a little inner squeal with excitement.
“His family ranch?” And is he taking Monday and Tuesday off? Well, this is a first.
This is huge for him. Time off is not something he does, and I might need to reschedule his calendar.
A sudden thought hits me like a cannonball to the gut.
Will his father be there?
Oh my God, I’m finally going to meet my nemesis.