Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
mia
We’re a tangle of limbs, breath, and what I’m now calling the best goddamn decision of my adult life. I’d bet Liam’s fortune that no hired escort would’ve fucked me half as thoroughly as Preston just did. Where’s that list and my red Sharpie? And a gold medal for this man, too.
I’m still gasping for air when he murmurs, pulling me closer by the waist, “Want a nap, a shower, a messy dip in the pool, or do you want to tempt fate with round two?”
A hysterical laugh escapes me before I can stop it, half-delirious and fully blissed-out. “Part of me is scared you’re serious about that last part.”
“Well, part of me’s not so sure I could actually handle that,” he says, grinning. “That’s why I said ‘tempt fate.’ So don’t get your hopes up too high.”
I roll on top of him, pin his wrists above his head, and kiss him all over. Nose, cheek, jaw. Quick, semi-annoying kisses that make him squirm and fake a struggle. They start out silly and fun, but when Preston laughs along, they somehow feel more intimate than anything we just did.
“Shower to clean,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Then pool to relax.” Another kiss, light as air, and I roll away, immediately hating the distance.
I stand up, and cum runs down my thigh. I don’t take the next step. Not because I’m grossed out, but because… I want to feel it. Feel him. Dripping from me.
It’s weird. New. Primal. Why do I love it so much?
I don’t know. But now’s not the time to tame or dissect the feeling.
Grinning to myself, I make a dramatic exit toward the bathroom.
“This pussy is off-limits, Doctor,” I toss over my shoulder.
His laugh follows me in. “Good luck with that, Miss Thorne.”
* * *
It’s a quick shower. At least it’s supposed to be.
But Preston keeps watching me, eyes like hands, hands like magnets, and I find myself spinning toward the waterfall stream, using it as a shield. Not from nudity. But from… him.
His stare strips me. He’s peeling back the woman I’ve spent years building from duct tape and ambition. The one who walked out of a caravan park and never looked back.
When Preston studies me like that, so focused and steady, I don’t feel sexy. I feel seen. And that? That’s a whole new kind of naked. One I never learned how to pose for. It’s a kind of vulnerability I have never allowed myself to feel.
So I do what I always do when the world gets too sharp. I flash the smile that charmed rent tips out of drunk assholes and kept me afloat in glass towers full of boardroom sharks. I clear my throat and look back at him.
“What about that dip in the pool?”
He doesn’t fall for it.
“Don’t hide from me,” he pleads. “I’ll ask as many times as I have to.”
“Stop decoding my every blink, Pres.” I bump him with my hip. “We just met. Mystery’s part of the charm, right?”
He folds me into a bear-trap hug I pretend to resist but secretly crave. His nose finds the crook of my neck and stays. My body seems to think it belongs there.
“I want to know all of you, Mia. Everything that makes you who you are. Every piece you give me just makes me want more.”
So I kiss him. Not because I’m feeling romantic. But because if he keeps saying shit like that, I’ll start to believe it. And that would be worse than falling. It would mean I’ve landed.
“Can you take me to the pool now?”
“Have I ever denied you anything?”
I don’t even need to think about it. “No.”
“Then be a good girl and return the favor.”
He punctuates that with a playful slap on my ass, then vanishes to grab us towels, smug and perfectly naked and so unfair.
The hunger in his eyes while I dry off almost sends me diving back into the shower. A cold one this time.
Preston calls reception and orders fresh towels and robes for us. I head to my bag, and he watches me pull a swimsuit from it.
“What are you doing?” he asks, stopping me on my way back to the bathroom.
“Getting changed.”
“No, you’re not.” He steps in front of me, scowling.
“What do you mean?” I chuckle, confused.
“I didn’t bring any.”
“Preston, you knew there was a pool.”
“Your point?” He gives me a flat look, as if I’ve suggested swimming in jeans. “It’s just us.”
He closes the gap, fingers grazing the towel around my breasts until it falls to the floor. A second later, his follows.
“So really,” he murmurs, “why would you bring something that’d keep me from you?”
Because I don’t usually feel this safe with a man. Because I’ve worn that shaping suit so many times, it’s practically armor. But I don’t say any of that. I’ve given him too much already.
“Yeah, guess I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He tilts his head. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Hiding. Come on. Let’s see if the chlorine washes this bad habit off you.”
Damn you, Preston. Stop looking that deep.
We step out onto the rooftop. Trees border two sides of the balcony, thick enough to block any prying eyes. The other edges offer a postcard view of Central Park, no neighbors in sight. Preston struts ahead, bare and unapologetic.
And sure, his ass is distracting, but even paired with the skyline, it’s not enough to shove my self-consciousness off the balcony ledge. I’m still naked. Everything of his flexes. Everything of mine jiggles.
Yeah, yeah. Comparison is the thief of joy. Or whatever that quote is.
My hand flails mid-air. Should I cover my tits? My stomach? Maybe shield my thighs? Everything’s on the move, and I’ve got nowhere to tuck any of it.
Preston turns, and I freeze, hands hovering. Thank God I didn’t commit to an area, or I’d be getting a lecture now. My arm drops to the side as he checks his watch.
“Wait here.” The hell I am. I enter the pool and pretend the water gives me any sense of coverage. The floating-titty sensation gives me something else to focus on, at least.
He comes back with the restaurant menu and asks me to pick lunch for us. “Anything,” he says. But that just adds to my indecision.
I don’t want to feel or look bloated because round two is coming. “I don’t really need anything. If you think about it, I just had a very fulfilling protein smoothie.”
“Nice try.”
I scan the page for half a second, then glance up at him. “Do you think I burned enough calories for a burger and a chocolate cake?”
His brow lifts. “If you say the word calories again, I’m crossing ‘spanking’ off that list sooner than you thought.”
I roll my lips the tightest I can, but he sees right past my best efforts and smiles back at me, shaking his head.
He reaches for the phone, and I watch, mouth agape, as he orders for us.
“Hi. Yeah, in about… an hour, send up one of everything that the chef recommends, starting with the burger. And all the desserts. Yes. All of them. Thanks.”
Preston steps into the pool, and for once, I don’t think about how I look.
Not when he’s watching me like I am what the chef recommended.
Now it feels like the water hugs my curves better than any shapewear ever could.
I float toward the deeper end, weightless, my brain quiet for the first time in… God, I don’t even know how long.
Preston rests his arms on the ledge next to me, neck tilted back, hair slicked off his face. If a statue of a Greek god came with dimples and dad instincts, it’d look exactly like this.
“So, we’re nowhere close to done, but”—he turns his head to stare at me—“was today what you hoped for when you started that list?”
“No,” I tell him honestly.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow, and I chuckle. “Which part threw you off? The many orgasms? The big dick? Please, enlighten me.”
Now I burst out laughing and splash him.
“It was better than I could’ve wished for and, ugh, I kind of hate that.” I turn to him and brace my arms around his neck, baring even more of myself. “I was going for simple, Preston. Transactional, emotionally hygienic.”
His head drops, forehead leaning on mine. “Yeah, big fail.” If he thinks that cheeky, ridiculously sexy smile is subtle, he’s dead wrong.
“Catastrophic failure. Honestly, I should demand a refund.”
“You didn’t pay me, Mia.”
“Exactly. What kind of escort even are you?”
“The kind who fucks you senseless, will tick that whole list in record time, and then demand you write a new one, miles long.”
How the hell can I feel feverish when naked and inside a pool? Oh, right. When sharing said pool with a dirty-talking man who won’t take his eyes off me.
“See, that’s why an escort would’ve been easier. Tick and run. This”—I gesture between us with my chin, never letting go of him—“wasn’t the plan.”
His smile fades, and although he’s not angry per se, he looks a bit pissed. “Again, Miss Thorne, tell me. Which part did I get wrong?” He turns us around and pushes me against the wall, trapping me between his arms. My thumbs trace his jaw while my hands stay put on his neck.
“The part where I actually like you, you fool.”
That wipes the pissed look right off his face, stopping him cold.
“Is that so bad?” he asks, and a shadow of sadness in his eyes makes my heart shrink.
I can’t give him an honest answer, so I joke instead. “Horrible. Sickening. I’m getting hives already. See?” I hold out my forearm for him.
“I’ll add a warning label next time. Caution: may develop feelings.”
He throws my arm right back where it was, pulling me in for a kiss before I can come up with a halfway decent comeback. Which is very convenient. ’Cause I have nothing. Just heart palpitations and wet hair.