Wallbanger(92)
What we have, or wil have? It’s different, okay? You know that, right?”
He was tel ing me I was different, that I was no replacement for the harem. And this, I knew. He looked at me so earnestly, so seriously, and my
heart opened even more. I pressed a gentle kiss to his sweet lips.
“First of al , I do know this. Second of al , you’re better at this than you think.” I smiled, pressing his eyes closed and kissing each eyelid. “And,
for the record, I loved Dawson’s Creek, and you did the WB proud.” I laughed as his eyes sprang back open and relief rushed in. I tucked him into
my nook and held him there as we rocked back and forth, the rush of the earlier hormones subsiding as we found this new space, this quiet
intimacy that was becoming almost as addicting.
“I like that we’re taking things slow. You give good woo,” I whispered.
He tensed underneath me. I could feel him shaking a little.
“I give good woo?” he laughed, tears springing to his eyes as he tried to control his laughter.
“Oh, shut up,” I cried, smacking him with a pil ow. We laughed for a few more minutes, fal ing back into the lush bed, and as the jet lag final y
overtook us, we settled in. Together. There was no question in my mind now about sleeping in separate rooms. I wanted him here. With me.
Surrounded by pil ows and Spain, we nooked. The last thought I had, before slipping into sleep with his strong arms wrapped around me…I might
be fal ing in love with my Wal banger.
Chapter Seventeen
I WAS AWAKENED THIS MORNING by a great rumbling. Forgetting where I was for a split second, I automatical y assumed I was home, and we were
experiencing a tremor. I was halfway out of bed with one foot on the floor before I noticed that the view outside my bedroom window was decidedly
more blue than it was at home, and decidedly more Mediterranean. And the rumbling? That was no tremor. It was Simon snoring. Snoring. Snoring
to beat the band, and by beat the band I mean beat that band up with his nose—which was emitting the most unearthly sound. I clapped my hands
over my mouth to hold in the laughter and crept back into bed, the better to appraise the situation.
True to form, I’d taken over most of the bed in the night, and he’d been relegated to the far corner, where he was now curled into a little bal with
a pil ow tucked between his legs. But what he lacked in square footage, he made up for in sound. The sounds pouring forth from his nasal
passages registered somewhere between grizzly bear and exploding tractor trailer. I wiggled across the mile-wide bed, curling myself around his
head and looking down at his face. Even while making these horrific sounds, he was adorable. I careful y placed my fingers next to his nose, and
plugged. And then waited.
After about ten seconds, he inhaled and shook his head, looking around wildly. He relaxed when he saw me perched on the pil ows next to him.
He smiled a sleepy smile.
“Hey, hey, what’s up?” he mumbled, rol ing into me and wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his head on my tummy. I ran my hands
through his hair, delighting in the casual freedom we final y had in touching each other.
“Just woke up. Someone was quite noisy on this side of the bed.”
He closed one eye and looked up at me. “I hardly think someone as flaily as you can complain about anything.”
“Flaily? That’s not even a word.” I huffed, enjoying his arms around me more than I wanted to admit.
“Flaily, as in, one who flails. As in, one who, even though she is sleeping in a bed the size of Alcatraz, stil needs almost the entire mattress to
spread out and kick,” he insisted, accidental y-on-purpose pushing my shirt up so he could rest his head on my naked tummy.
“Flailing is better than snoring, Mr. Snorey Pants,” I teased again, trying not to notice the way his stubble scraped against my skin in the most
delicious way.
“You flail. I snore. Whatever wil we do about this?” He smiled happily, stil half asleep.
“Ear plugs and shin guards?”
“Yep, that’s sexy. We can suit up before bed each night,” he sighed, pressing the tiniest of kisses just above my bel y button.
A noise that sounded sadly like a whimper escaped my lips before I could pul it back, and my ears burned as I took in what he’d said about
“each night,” as in sleeping together each night. Oh my…
We ate a quick breakfast at the house, then headed into town. I fel in love with the vil age instantly: the old stone streets, the whitewashed wal s
glimmering in the blazing sunlight, the beauty that poured forth from every open archway. From every speck of azure that peeked through from the
coast to the friendly smiles on the sweet faces of the people who cal ed this enchanted spot home, I was hooked.