Sunlight. Warmth and softness. Orange blossom and vanilla.
Blake’s idea of heaven—if it weren’t for the damn alarm clock shrieking on his nightstand like a nun who’d walked into an orgy.
He set his alarm for seven a.m. on the weekends, a few hours later than when he woke up on weekdays, because early mornings were his most productive time of day. Blake loved getting all his shit done before other people rolled out of bed. Fewer distractions, more focus, though he would’ve happily stayed in bed all day today.
Yesterday drained him more than a five-hour training session in the rain back when he played football. Raw emotion was a bitch; it knocked you on your feet faster and harder than any three-hundred-pound lineman could.
Blake cracked an eye open and slammed his hand on his alarm clock’s off button.
Finally. Silence.
He braced himself before turning his head. The pillow next to him was empty.
He’d expected it, considering Farrah never replied when he asked her to stay through the morning. Still, disappointment curdled in his gut. Blake was about to let loose a curse that would have his mother washing his mouth out with soap when the bedroom door creaked open, and Farrah tip-toed in holding two cups of rich-smelling coffee.
Promise me you’ll be here in the morning.
And here she was, like a vision straight out of his dreams with her sex-tousled hair and one of his white button-down shirts barely covering her thighs.
Blake’s stomach flipped. His earlier disappointment took a back seat to the desire to crush her to his chest and never let her go.
“You’re awake.” Farrah handed him a coffee, which he accepted with a grateful nod.
“You’re here.”
She lifted a shoulder, looking almost as surprised as he felt. “I figured there are some things we need to talk about.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Blake said, tone dry. He took a sip of his morning elixir—strong and black, no cream, no sugar, just the way he liked it—before setting it on his nightstand. “Let’s talk.”
Their conversation last night had ended with a question mark. Blake assumed—hoped—that Farrah’s presence this morning meant she was willing to give them another chance, despite how badly he’d fucked up the first time around.
Granted, Blake hadn’t told her the entire truth. She didn’t know how Cleo miscarried or how selfish he felt, burrowing himself into her life again when she deserved so much better than him. But she knew all the parts of the story that pertained to her, and Blake would do anything to protect her from the darkest side of himself.
“I’ll be honest.” Farrah clutched her mug like it was her shield and salvation. “I believe what you did was a mistake—that you didn’t intend to hurt me—but you did. And I am so fucking furious you lied to me about something as big as getting your ex pregnant.” She swallowed. “I am also so, so sorry about what happened with your baby, and I appreciate you telling me the truth yesterday, but I can’t lie and say I trust you again.”
Blake’s heart shriveled in his chest.
“At the same time…” She blew a stray strand of hair out of her eye, indecision stamped across her gorgeous face. “I’m sick of living in the past, and there’s something inside me that can’t let you go, no matter how hard I try.”
The shriveling stopped.
There’s something inside me that can’t let you go, no matter how hard I try. Well, he’d be damned.
“So.” Farrah examined him, her gaze inscrutable. “It seems we have a conundrum.”
“And I have a solution.” Blake tossed the covers off and erased the distance between them with long, confident strides.
Yes, he was naked. No, he didn’t care.
Blake didn’t do false humility. He knew he could give Michelangelo’s David a run for his money. Heck, he was better than David, because David’s dick was kinda small. Blake’s was anything but.
Farrah’s breath hitched. “What’s the solution?”
“We take it one day at a time. Get to know each other again. Be friends again.” Blake removed the mug from Farrah’s trembling hand and placed it on the nightstand next to his own. He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed. “We don’t have to date or do anything you don’t want to do. But if you want sex, I’ll make you come so hard you won’t be able to see straight. If you want somebody to talk to after a shitty day, I’ll be your listening board. If you want someone to cook you a nice meal…well, I’m not a great cook, but I’m great at ordering delivery.” He smiled when Farrah choked out a laugh. “The point is, I’ll be anything you need me to be. A friend with the full suite of benefits, so to speak. The only thing I ask in return is for you not to shut me out.”
“You would do that.” There was a tinge of skepticism in her voice.
“I thought I made myself clear. I’d do anything for you.” Blake lowered his head and trailed his lips down her neck until he reached the pulse fluttering beneath her skin like a trapped butterfly. “I’ll wait as long as I need for you to trust me again.”
“What if that never happens?”
“Then I’ll wait forever.”
A noise wrenched from her throat. “You always were good with words.”
“They’re not the only thing I’m good with.” Blake’s mouth made the lazy journey back up her slender throat to her jaw, her cheek, her nose…everywhere but her mouth, which parted with impatience at his languid pace. “Do we have a deal?”
Farrah blinked, then ever so slowly nodded.
“What do you want now?”
“You.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.” Blake reached under her shirt and caressed her inner thigh. Farrah tilted her hips toward, but he didn’t respond to the invitation, choosing instead to draw lazy circles on her inner thighs.
She glared at him, and he responded with an innocent smile. Just because she owned him, heart and soul, didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with her.
“I want you to make me come. In the next five minutes,” she added, probably as retaliation.
Blake was insulted. “Five minutes? You underestimate me.”
He made her come in two.
Less than two, according to the accurate-down-to-the-second clock on his nightstand, but he rounded up because he was humble like that.
While Farrah was still shaking from her high, Blake picked her up and tossed her on the bed for the second round. Except this time, he was going to use more than his fingers.
His dick strained at the thought.
“By the way,” Farrah said, watching with hooded eyes as Blake sheathed himself with a condom. “As part of the deal, you can’t hook up with that woman from last night.”
“You mean Pat.”
She pursed her lips. “Right. Pat.”
Blake’s mouth curled up into a sly grin. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Farrah insisted, twin poppies blooming on her cheeks.
“No?” Blake knelt over her, caging her in with his body. “So, you don’t care that I spent all day yesterday with Pat?”
Farrah’s face darkened. “I cannot believe you’re talking about another woman right now.” She tried to shove him away with no avail.
“I thought you said you weren’t jealous,” he teased.
“I’m not. But this is not the time to talk about being with someone else.” Her bottom lip pushed out into a pout before her eyes lit up with a mischievous gleam. “Although if you can be with Pat, I can be with someone else too. Maybe that hot bartender from The Egret? What was his name, Justin?”
A dangerous growl rumbled from Blake’s chest. “You’re not going anywhere near him,” he snapped. “Not unless you want a bad case of STDs.”
Farrah smirked. “Who’s the jealous one now?”
“Damn right I’m jealous.” Blake pinned her hands above her head and lowered his head until their faces were inches apart. “I don’t share. Not when it comes to you. This is an exclusive arrangement, and if Justin so much as looks at you the wrong way, I will rip him apart with my bare hands.”
Farrah’s eyes flared. “Fine. But if it’s exclusive, that means you can’t see Pat again either.”
“That’s going to be hard.”
The anger returned to her expression. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “She’s my chief of staff. I’m about as sexually attracted to her as I would be to a ninety-year-old nun, and the feeling’s mutual.”
An audible gulp. “Oh.”
“But it’s nice to see you care so much. Now that that’s settled…” Blake grinned and nudged her legs open with his knee. “Let’s move on to something more fun.”
The red on Farrah’s cheeks deepened. “You know, you’re really a cocky son of—” The rest of Farrah’s sentence fell away when he drove her into her with one hard thrust.
“What were you saying about cocky?” Blake lifted one of her legs and propped it on his shoulder so he could drive deeper.
Farrah didn’t answer. She clutched the sheets with white-knuckled fists, a steady stream of breathless cries falling past her lips as he buried himself so deep, he could’ve fucking tattooed himself on her heart. She was still wearing his shirt, which made it even sexier.
Blake leaned down and captured her mouth with this. His tongue slipped into her sweetness, stroking and licking and swallowing her sighs of pleasure until she came apart in his arms.
Farrah didn’t know it yet, but he was going to reclaim her, piece by piece. Her friendship. Her trust. Her love. Her heart.
He wanted all of her, and this time he wasn’t going to fuck it up.
But until that day came, Blake would settle for anything she was willing to give him, because even a piece of Farrah was better than all of anyone else.
