54. Renee

Meet me on the roof at 7 for dinner. W

That’s all the note says. I’m giddy—not to mention frothing-at-the-mouth levels of horny after two weeks of abstinence following Weston’s Colorado road trip and the pregnancy scare. I haven’t seen him since then, but something about the handwritten note slipped under my door feels swoon-inducingly romantic. Like a soldier writing letters to his lover back home.

I wear a simple dress. Sleeveless, loose-fitting, velvety, and it looks good with my sandals. And because I’m hopeful, I leave my panties in the drawer. Weston has stolen enough of them already.

When I emerge from the stairwell onto the roof, I pause and gasp.

It’s like Beauty and the Beast out here.

There are about a hundred candles lit around the perimeter, rose petals in a line leading from the door to the table he has set with crystal goblets, linen napkins, flickering candlesticks in ivory candle holders, and silver cloches gleaming on the place settings. A gauzy white curtain at the edge of the rooftop frames the view of the city and gives a romantic effect—as if the setup needs more of that.

And in the middle of it all is Weston. He’s wearing a creamy white button-down shirt, open at the throat to reveal a smattering of chest hair, with the sleeves cuffed to just below his elbows, putting a tantalizing slice of forearm on display. His dark hair is wet and curling at the ends. When he sees me coming, his smile glistens in the setting sun.

“Did… did you do all of this?” It’s a dumbass question, I’m well aware, but I need a minute to take it all in.

He nods. “I can be impressive when I try.”

No fucking kidding.

He comes to stand beside me and looks back at the display from where I’m standing. He whistles. “Yeah. Damn. I’m good.”

We both laugh as he offers me his arm and walks me to the table, where he pulls out my chair and helps me sit down like a princess. Once I’m situated, he leans down and presses his lips to mine. It’s a soft kiss, not his usual style of ravaging my mouth, but it’s every bit as potent and as intoxicating.

He lifts the dome off my plate with a flourish. “Garlic butter ribeye with grilled asparagus and mushrooms, a soft buttered dinner roll, and truffle-infused mashed potatoes.”

It smells heavenly and looks divine. My stomach responds with a loud rumble. “Sorry.” My skin flushes. I crushed three packs of PopTarts at work today, but my belly is acting like I haven’t had food for months.

He moves around to his side of the table and sits, then smiles at me. “How was your day?”

Our conversations are usually limited to positions, whether or not I want to be spanked, and if I want him to go faster, harder, or supersonic. We don’t generally talk about our days.

I clear my throat. “It was good. I managed to book the orchestra and the table service company for the auction.”

“I’m glad the job is working out.”

“Still think I’m stalking you?”

We’ve come a long way from that first day when he thought I tossed the box of my underwear at him. The sizzle in the air, the chemistry—I would’ve bet every penny on Earth against ever feeling any of that with the Weston Scott who sneered down at me in the hallway.

But this Weston Scott? The one with ocean blue eyes who arranges romantic dinners and smiles at me like there isn’t a damn thing else in the world worth looking at?

This Weston Scott is worth stalking.

“I wish you were stalking me,” he chuckles. “I’ll have to settle for breaking bread together instead.”

“Poor you.” I swallow down to quiet the butterflies in my stomach. “How was your day?”

“Well, I spent most of it tearing petals off roses, lighting candles, ordering food, and writing and rewriting a ten-word note so it didn’t look like I have the penmanship of a kindergartener.”

“Bravo by the way. It was a great note. Very succinct. I’ll have to get it framed.” I’m teasing him, but I really did stash the letter in my jewelry box.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He takes a bite of his steak and a sip of his wine. “How much more do you have to do for the auction?”

“Why? Are you suddenly volunteering to jump on the auction block?”

“I thought you wanted me all to yourself.”

I shrug. “I don’t want other women bidding on you. I don’t really want them even looking at you. And, while I’m being honest, I didn’t even want to put you in the calendar.”

“Ah.” He grins wickedly. “I guess you didn’t like my pictures?”

“I liked them very much. Maybe too much.”

We fall silent for a minute or two. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, though, at least not in the awkward way. It is uncomfortable in the sense that I’d do heinous things in exchange for him sweeping all this cutlery off the table and eating me on it instead.

I force myself to eat one bite of food at a time to keep the dirty thoughts at bay.

When we’ve both cleared our plates, he stands and holds out his hand. Right on cue, music starts playing from the integrated Bluetooth speakers arranged around the pool patio.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs.

It isn’t a question, but even if it was, “no” isn’t part of my vocabulary. There isn’t much more in the world I want right now than to press my body against his. The only possible way it could be better is if he was dancing naked with me.

He holds me close as we sway and he hums along, twirling me out, pulling me back in. It occurs to me, not for the first time, how easy it would be to fall for a man like him. When he’s keeping me plastered against him like this, when he smells this good, when every rising and falling breath moves in tune with mine… well, it’d be a simple thing to imagine doing this forever. Dancing every night after dinner. Asking about his day and teasing him about how attractive I may or may not find him.

I could love him, even.

If I was willing to let myself do something that reckless, it’d be the easiest thing in the world.

The song comes to an end and Weston relaxes his grip on my waist. His eyes shimmer when I look up at him. “Do you want to swim?” he asks.

I wasn’t expecting that question, but as a matter of fact, I do.

And since we’re alone up here, I slip out of my sandals and strip off the dress, leaving me wearing nothing but my smile. He looks at me and licks his lips as his gaze slides down my body.

I stand still for a second letting him have his fill, until my skin is white hot and I have to jump into the pool just to stop from burning into ash.

The splash of him coming in is just a few seconds behind mine. He meets me out in the center of the pool. His arms encircle me and pull me close to him again.

I guess I’m getting my wish after all: dancing, but naked.

Despite the cool water, he’s hard and ready. He kisses me and we float to the edge. His hands caress my thighs and twine them around his waist.

“I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, Renee,” he whispers in my ear.

He kisses me in that soft way of his again. I kiss back and we rock around in the water for a while until I need him too badly to stay like this for a moment longer.

Then his hardness finds my wetness and we slide together. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my ass as I grind against him while he kisses my throat and my shoulder and nibbles my earlobe.

“Don’t you ever do this with anybody else,” he growls in my ear in that possessive caveman voice that’s almost enough to make me come on its own.

I wouldn’t think of it. Instead, I press our mouths together, increase the pace and hang on when he spins us and takes over, thrusting up. Pulling me onto him.

“Tell me, Renee. Say it. Tell me that you don’t want anyone else.”

“I don’t want anyone but you.”

And then my body shatters and I cry out. I say his name over and over as I ride the passion away then cling to him hard when he comes, when he rams himself as deep as it will go and stays there.

I know it won’t always be like this, but for right now, I might be addicted to this feeling. Not just the sex, but the being wanted so completely.

When it ends—and I have no illusions that, one day soon, it will indeed end—I’m never going to find someone who satisfies me this way. Chances are, I’m not going to want to try.

Weston Scott is as good as it gets.

You don’t have to tell me how dangerous that is.