Page 59 of For Your Eyes Only

CHAPTER17

TRIP

Gia sits in the middle of my bed, wrapped in my dress shirt, her long curls bound in a messy bun on top of her head, smiling adorably as I hold a cube of cheese to her full lips.

“We got everything late. I grew up watching badly dubbedFriends,” she explains while chewing. Then she mimics that fucking obnoxious line. “We were on a break!”

“God, I hated that show,” I groan, taking a sip of my wine.

After that tremendous fuck, we were both hungry. Gia said she didn’t want to go out, so I ordered a charcuterie board and a bottle of sparkling wine.

I didn’t believe she was a virgin. I didn’t believe any of her shit after last night. Now, sitting in my black boxer briefs, I watch her eat an oversized grape and wonder from which realm of heaven she dropped, and what the fuck I did to deserve her.

When I realized it actuallywasher first time, all I cared about was making it good for her. If I was going to be a memory in her life forever, I wanted it to be something that would make her smile and not cringe or hold up as a cautionary tale.

Our consummation was not cringe, and it was far from a cautionary tale, unless the tale is about losing track of one’s goals. Perhaps it was because I’d fantasized about her too many times or maybe it was simple chemistry, or I’d been alone too long…

What happened between us was different. I was feverish with need, burning from the inside out, and sinking into her body was like a sip of cooling water. Only it was far from cool. It was hot as fuck, and I’m filing this away for later reflection.

Once I had a grip, I carried her to the bathroom to clean her gently, and she placed her hand on my cheek. She kissed me sweetly, smiling into my eyes. She looked at me like no one ever has, like I was precious to her. It made my stomach twist, and I simultaneously wanted to run away and pull her closer, protect her from anything that would try to hurt her.Mine. The word was on a neon sign flashing in my brain.

It freaked me out, so I ordered food, and now she’s wrapped in my shirt in the middle of my bed, stripping away the last of my defenses.

I’m fucked.

“No!” She pushes my arm. “How can you hate the friends?”

“Very easily.” I pop a roll of thin-sliced prosciutto into my mouth. “Ross is an asinine wimp, Chandler is a hyperactive dork, Monica gave me the itch. The only tolerable characters were Joey and Phoebe. Oh, and Rachel.”

“Oh, and Rachel.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her curls as she sips her wine. “All the boys love Rachel.”

“She had the most believable character arc, although that apartment in Greenwich Village was a total fabrication. There’s no way they could afford to live there.”

“I like the way that sounds.” Her dark eyes glow, and she’s sexy as fuck leaning back on my pillows with only a few buttons holding my shirt closed over her glorious tits. “Greenwich Village. Is it really a village?”

“In a way.” I lean on my arm beside her, sliding a loose curl behind her ear. “Your friend Michele would fit in very well there.”

She nods, drinking more. “What was your favorite movie as a little boy?”

“Transformers.” Her nose curls, and I shrug. “I was a kid. Meghan Fox made my dick hard.”

“I like when your dick is hard.” She leans closer, letting the front of my shirt fall open.

“Good thing.” Setting my glass aside, I reach for her waist, pulling her onto my lap so she can feel my semi. “Are you sore?”

“A little.” Placing her hand on the headboard behind me, she slides her lips along my cheek. “Not so much I’d turn you away.”

The faintest scent of honeysuckle lingers in her hair, and I reach up to hold her face, kissing her lips. I set her wine glass to the side and pull her forward so her cheek is against my chest. Wrapping my arms around her, I’d never hurt her, physically or otherwise.

“What was your favorite movie as a little girl?” Tracing my fingers down her back, I love the feel of her warm body, soft against mine with only thin linen between us.

“Bridget Jones’s Diary.”

“What?” My brow furrows, and I look down at her. “How old were you?”

“Eleven. It was on my aunt’s television, and I watched it over and over. I liked the part where the men were fighting. And the part where her butt hits the camera.”

She breaks into sweet laughter that ripples through her body. Her bare stomach touches mine, and my chest tightens. Emotion filters through my arms, which are wrapped around her, and I drop my head back against the headboard.What is this feeling?