I wake up slowly, one part of my body at a time. I can feel the silky sheets against my skin, the pillows beneath my head. I hear him breathing behind me. The warmth of his body is evident on my back. He’s close, but not touching.

Gosh, and I thought I would wake up in my own bed for a moment there. I truly did. How could last night have been real? How can anything that happened actually be real? I didn’t even know I was capable of multiple orgasms, or extended orgasms, or whatever the hell happened to me last night.

But it is real, because here I am. In his bed. For the second morning in a row.

He stirs behind me, one arm creeping over my side. “Good morning,” he whispers against the back of my neck. He sounds like a man completely content with his choices in life. Which include me. Needless to say, I’m okay with this.

Which is why I wriggle a little against his body. “Good morning.”

His low laugh stirs the hair on my neck. “Careful now. I don’t know if you want any of this before I’m cleaned up. You made me work up a little bit of a sweat last night, remember.”

“What, I can’t brush up against you without you thinking it’s a come-on?” I ask, all innocence. “You need to clean up that dirty mind of yours, sir.”

“I didn’t catch you complaining about my dirty mind last night.”

“I didn’t say my mind isn’t dirty, too.”

His laughter warms more than just my skin. I feel like I’m glowing inside as he wraps me in his arms. “I think a shower is called for. Would you care to join me?”

What kind of question is that?

But it doesn’t go the way I expect it to. Who could blame me for thinking the two of us being in a steamy, wet, slippery place would end up rather… well… orgasmic?

Instead, it’s sweet. Playful. Silly even. He lets me mold his hair into a mohawk. He attacks me with the handheld showerhead, spraying me until I laughingly beg him to stop.

In the end, I lean against him and allow him to wash my hair. My eyes close on their own, without my meaning them to. The feeling of his fingers on my scalp is pure magic. He’s gentle and slow, massaging me with a tenderness that still surprises me.

I would never have expected him to be so gentle if we had crossed paths on the street or some other random place. In fact, I would assume he was a meathead, a brute, even with his good looks and nice clothes. I guess that’s what I get for judging the book by its cover.

When it’s over, I’m more confused about him than ever. Wouldn’t it just be easier for me to leave and get it over with? But he doesn’t seem to want that. I know I don’t. I’ll freaking move in with him today if he wants me to, caution be damned. I could definitely live with this.

But he can’t want that. Can he? Don’t unattached men want the girl out the door as soon as possible the morning after?

I dry my hair with the same sort of thick, soft towel wrapped around my body. Even the towels are top-notch. It’s not enough that I’ve spent the past two nights in a bed that reminds me of what being cradled in angels’ wings might feel like, or that the sheets on that bed are the most sumptuous thing I’ve ever felt.

The sight of him with a towel slung around his waist is nearly enough to bring tears to my eyes. The good Lord knew what was up when it was time to create this man. Does he even know how incredible he is? If I was him, I’d never get anything done for staring at myself in the mirror all day.

“What?” he asks with a grin as he passes where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Nothing.”

He glances over his shoulder at me as he goes through his dresser. Darn it, he’s going to get dressed. Would a little more time in the towel be too much to ask for?

“You sure? Because you had a funny smile there for a second.”

“I was lusting over you, okay? Jeez. Let a girl have some private thoughts.”

“Is that all I am? Just a piece of meat?” he pouts, teasing. At least I hope he’s teasing.

“No, of course not!”

“Good.”

“You’re a pretty face, too.”

He throws his towel at me before grabbing me and throwing me on the bed. Yes, he gives me a screaming climax, before he gets off the bed and steps into a pair of shorts. He’s like a study in the human physique, every muscle perfectly defined, and that grace I noticed on the dance floor last night is evident even when he performs the most mundane actions.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” I groan before sinking onto the bed, moaning like a dying woman. “You expect a girl to do all these things you like to do on an empty stomach.”

“How about some brunch? My favorite spot should still be serving, even on New Year’s Day. They bake this brioche that will curl your toes, and they offer bottomless mimosas,” he adds with a grimace, “after last night, I don’t know if champagne ought to be on the menu this morning.”

“Oof. I don’t think so, either.” But mimosas? Bottomless or otherwise? House-baked brioche? This hardly sounds like a casual place, and I can’t wear last night dress to a place that serves brunch.

“What do you say?” he asks.

“In this?” I motion to the towel. It’s either this or the dress I wore last night. I didn’t exactly think about packing for the evening. Maybe I should have.

“Hmm. Good point. We could always stop off someplace and get you something new.”

I have to raise an eyebrow at this. “Just to have an outfit to go to brunch in? Doesn’t that seem like sort of a waste?”

He shrugs it off, flopping back on the bed with both hands behind his head. “A waste of what? We’re not talking about disposable clothing. I was talking about buying something for you. A gift.”

A gift, huh? It’s a very nice gesture, but I don’t think so. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

“What do we do, then?” he asks.

The fact that he’s so dead set on spending more time together is nice enough that I wouldn’t care if we just sat around and watched TV all day—but I’m hungry, too. “Would it be crazy to say I’d rather go someplace a little more…”

“Normal?” he asks.

“I was going to say plain,” I scowl, rolling my eyes. “I wouldn’t be rude enough to use the word normal.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

“No, it isn’t. I meant someplace a little more my speed. Have you ever just, I don’t know, gone to the park and had a hot dog?”

“A hot dog in the park?” I don’t know if he sounds surprised, skeptical or disgusted.

“Yes. You know, like regular people do.”

“I’m a regular person. I wasn’t raised with wealth.” He gestures around us with his hands, sort of aimlessly. “As you can see, but my mother would’ve washed my mouth out with a bar of soap for only two reasons: if I swore, and if I ate a hot dog from a street vendor.”

I have to laugh with him. “Well, why not walk on the wild side and take a chance? I mean, if I can do all sorts of brave things with the new year, why can’t you?”

He smirks. “I would tell you it’s ridiculous to consider eating a hot dog from a vendor an act of bravery, but you never met my mother. The queen of hand sanitizer.” He stands, pulling me up with him when I offer him my hands. “Yes. Let’s go.”

When my feet hit the floor, something else hits me. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“That we at least stop at the closest shoe store so I don’t have to wear last night’s heels.”