Chapter 31 Almost Yours
Almost Yours
The other half of the bed was cold.
She blinked, adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. No sounds. No movement. Just the empty imprint of him on the pillow beside her.
She waited a few minutes, listening for any trace of him.
Nothing.
Her bare feet finally touched the cold tile, a soft contrast to the warmth she’d just left. She padded across the floor, her body still aching in the best ways from the night before, heading for the bathroom—but stopped short at the sink.
There, tucked neatly into the corner of the mirror, was a folded note.
She pulled it free and read:
Good morning beautiful,
I had to be at the new office by 8:00. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you.
I’ll be done by 12:30. See you soon.
—Jax
She stared at the words like they held more meaning than ink should be allowed. Something about how he said it—how simple, how thoughtful—sank a little too deep into her chest.
Brushing her teeth, she caught herself glancing at the note again. Re-reading it like it might change. Like it might suddenly say stay forever.
The water for the shower was already warming as she turned the handle. She stepped into the glass enclosure, letting the heat pour over her, washing away the sleep but not the weight of the way last night still clung to her.
And it clung.
Every second of it replayed behind her eyes.
The way he looked at her in the elevator.
The drag of his tongue.
The rasp in his voice when he told her to open her mouth.
Her lips parted again without her even realizing it.
But the fantasy was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Wrapped in a thick white robe, hair dripping down her back, she hurried across the suite and cracked the door open.
“I didn’t order anything,” she said, confused.
The hotel attendant smiled. “No, ma’am. Mr. Stone placed a scheduled delivery for this morning.”
Claire blinked.
Of course he did.
She took the tray with a polite thank you, then spotted a few neatly placed bills beside the sitting chair. Jaxon had already tipped. Already thought of everything.
“That man,” she whispered with a breathy laugh, shutting the door behind her. “He really does think of everything.”
She carried the tray into the kitchen and set it down at the counter. Slipping onto the stool, still swaddled in her robe, she lifted the cloche.
Her eyebrows rose.
French press coffee. Warm, flaky pastries. Eggs. Bacon. Fruit. Jam. And some kind of croissant that looked like it belonged in a Parisian café.
Claire had stayed in nice hotels before.
She’d had room service.
But this? This was something else.
This was curated.
This was personal.
By the time she finished, only a few decorative sprigs of greens were left on the plate. She covered the tray again and leaned back, full and still dizzy from all of it.
She glanced at the clock.
Still time.
“I could hop back in and finish my shower,” she said to no one—but smiled at the thought anyway.
Back in the water, steam rising around her, Claire leaned against the tile and closed her eyes. The memory of last night mixed with the feeling of this morning.
It wasn’t just sex.
It wasn’t just breakfast.
It was him.
Could you imagine… this being your life?
That thought hit harder than it should’ve.
And the thing that really shook her?
For the first time—
It didn’t feel impossible.
It didn’t feel like a fantasy.
It felt like a choice.
One she was dangerously close to making.