“It’s okay,” she said, glancing up beneath dark lashes. “It’s the good kind of sore.”
A primal sense of pride, caveman though it might be, filled his chest and satisfied him more than getting hard-earned praise from his father on a job well done. It was then Dillon realized he could care less what the rest of the world thought of him as long as this woman continued to look at him like he hung the moon.
“I’m going to run you a bath with some bath salts I saw in there earlier. It’ll help with your soreness. Then when you’re done, how about we go grab some breakfast and see what there is to do in this crazy town?”
A twinkle sparkled in her eyes and her wide smile melted his insides. “That sounds fantastic.”
“I’ll be right back.”
With a yawn she said, “And I’ll be right here.”
He chuckled and forced himself to leave the warmth of the bed and head to the bathroom. It took about ten minutes to fill the large garden tub with warm water and sprinkle in the lavender bath salts. And all ten minutes Dillon grinned like a damn fool. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt so content and happy.
Leaning on the doorjamb, he crossed his arms over his chest and one foot over the other to stare at the amazing woman asleep again in the bed. Last night had been so much more than he ever thought possible. If he’d known how it could be between them, he’d have solved both their problems and tried getting her into bed a helluva long time ago.
This could work. He didn’t see how it wouldn’t. Adding mind-blowing sex to their already awesome relationship gave them both what they wanted. All the benefits of a relationship without the weight of their fears ruining it. He wouldn’t have to worry about hurting her because she didn’t want more than he could give, and she wouldn’t have to worry about him breaking her heart because, as she pointed out last night, she didn’t feel that way about him.
A twinge in his chest caused Dillon to frown and rub at the area. That shouldn’t bother him. Whenever another woman even mentioned having feelings for him, he instantly started to pull away. Must be an ego thing. Because there was no way he actually wanted Alyssa to be in love with him. That would ruin everything they had together. He might even lose her for good over it.
Pushing off with his shoulder, he stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. He imagined what life would be like without her living next door, without their weekly reality-TV nights, without getting to see her brilliant smile on a daily basis. A possessive pang reverberated in his bones and he knew right then he’d do whatever necessary to keep that from happening. Losing Alyssa was not an option. Ever.
He’d give them the rest of the weekend to explore this new facet of their friendship. Let it really sink in how great they are together. Then he’d propose the arrangement as something long-term when they got home.
As she stirred and opened her eyes, Dillon crossed the room to stand by the bed. “Your bath is ready, m’lady,” he said with a slight bow for fun.
“And just how am I supposed to focus on my bath when I have access to something as wonderful as that?”
He followed her pointed gaze to his semihard cock, which was now growing under her attention. She bit her lip and looked up at him through sleep-heavy eyes that told him she had anything but sleep in mind. He growled and cradled her in his arms to pick her up. “Look who woke up a wicked little minx,” he teased, walking back toward the bathroom. “Tell you what. I’ll let you wash mine if I can wash yours.”
“I agree to those terms.” Alyssa used her arms around his neck to pull herself up to whisper into his ear. “As long as ‘wash’ is code for ‘lick.’”
Dillon wanted to come back with a sexy retort, but he could only laugh. He was amazed at how she could still surprise him after eighteen years. Just another plus in the friends with benefits plan. Life was looking pretty damn perfect right about now.
…
“Thank God. I’m starving.” Dillon leaned back so their waitress, who looked like Katy Perry’s stunt double, could set their drinks and appetizer on the table. He and Alyssa had been walking the Strip and taking in the eclectic array of locals dressed as showgirls, fictional characters, and even cartoon characters they encountered along the way. But as soon as they passed the Sugar Factory in front of the Paris hotel, Dillon’s sweet tooth and grumbling stomach dragged Alyssa onto the patio for some lunch.
He squeezed the orange garnish into his tall glass of Blue Moon beer, then dropped it in and licked the sweet juice from his fingers. Looking up, he swore he’d caught Alyssa staring at him before she’d averted her eyes. Despite her sex-kitten persona in the bedroom, he noticed she reverted to straitlaced Aly as soon as they were out of it. He found it intriguing on a certain level. Was it because she wanted to keep their bedroom life separate from everyday life? If so, he could respect that. He could even understand it. But he didn’t like it. If he got the urge to kiss her senseless out in public, he wanted free rein to do so.