Thanks, Margo. Yep, that’s absolutely perfect. Let Jenna know that she’s welcome to come. Stephanie too. That sounds like a great plan. You’re a rockstar.” I keep my voice low as I say my goodbyes to Margo, before turning off my cell phone.

Lucy is still asleep on the big bed, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow we shared during the night, and her hands tucked under her face. I stand up and look down at her. She looks like an angel. A beautiful, sexy angel, who came twice in my hand and once around my cock last night. The memory causes my dick to twitch and my blood to warm.

Down, boy, I silently command myself.

Still, the urge to join Lucy on that bed, to use my hand and mouth to wake her, is nearly impossible to ignore, so I turn away to avoid succumbing to temptation.

It’s funny. For the most part, my relationships have involved women who were more interested in casual hook ups than anything else. We got together whenever we had an itch that needed to be scratched, and afterwards, we both went our separate ways. It was rare for a woman to spend the night in my bed, rarer still for me to want her as badly in the morning as I did the night before.

Not Lucy.

She’s different. Now that I’ve felt how she fits me like a glove, like she’s made for me, I want her more than ever. And considering how badly I wanted – needed – her last night, that’s really saying something.

She’s worked her way into my blood stream, and I don’t think I’m going to get tired of her anytime soon. Now, all I have to do is figure out a way to convince her to take what we’ve started with our fake relationship and turn it into a real one.

The fact that I manage to coax three orgasms out of her and got her to spend the entire night in my bed makes me think that the odds are in my favor.

A soft knock on the hotel door drags my thoughts away from Lucy. I open it to find a pretty, curly-haired brunette standing on the other side, holding a room service tray. Her dark eyes glow and her lips curve into what I suspect she considers a sexy smile.

“Mr. Jakes,” she says. “Your room service is ready.”

“Great.” I dig into my pocket, find my wallet, and pull out a twenty. I take the tray and give her the cash.

She slides the bill into her pocket and shoots me a coy look. “I was wondering if-”

“I’m sorry,” I cut her off. There’s a chance that she’s only going to ask for my autograph, but ever since a buddy of mine had a young maid push her way into his room and then cry assault, I’ve learned to become downright rude to young women who come bearing trays. “I’m in the middle of something. Bye.”

I close the door in her face before she has a chance to fully realize she’s been rejected. Hopefully, that twenty will be enough to stop her from launching a smear campaign on Twitter, but if she does, oh well. I’d rather have that than be accused of molestation, or worse.

I set the tray down on the small table and straighten.

Lucy is sitting upright up in bed, a sheet clutched to her chest for modesty’s sake.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” I walk to the side of the bed and lean down, fully intending to give her a good morning kiss that she’s not going to forget anytime soon.

Before I can, she claps a hand over her mouth and bolts off the other side of the bed, hauling the sheet with her.

“Luce?” I straighten. “Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head and tugs the sheet free from the rest of the bedding, wrapping it around herself like a toga. “No. It’s just”–she waves a hand at her mouth—“morning breath.”

Like that would stop me from enjoying her kiss. Still, there’s no point in pushing the issue. “There’s toothpaste on the bathroom counter. You’ll have to use my toothbrush. I didn’t think to pack a spare.”

The door closes behind Lucy and I hear the sound of water running. “When you’re done,” I tell her through the closed door, “breakfast is ready.”

The shower kicks on as I take the items I ordered, a few pastry selections and fruit salad, off the room service tray and arrange them on the small table.

In my mind’s eye, I picture Lucy stepping under the steaming spray, imagine the water running down her naked body as she soaps up. My cock springs to life, insisting we go join her. I ignore it. After last night, she’s bound to be sore. Better to give her some time to heal before teaching her the joys of shower sex.

A few minutes later, the shower turns off and Lucy reappears in the main room, wet hair slicked back over her skull, and her body hidden in the big, fluffy robe the hotel provided.

I gesture at the table and pull out a chair. “Breakfast is served.”

Lucy shoots me the classic nervous, morning-after look but slides into the chair. Before moving to my own chair, I lean down and press a hard kiss to her mouth, enjoying the way her lips automatically part, inviting me to deepen the kiss. “Good morning.”

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. “Good morning.” She wraps both hands around the coffee mug and lifts it to her mouth.

I slide into the chair across from her and select a blueberry muffin from the basket the hotel sent up. Some guys might pussyfoot around what Lucy and I shared last night, wanting to give the woman time to relax, to get comfortable with them. I decide to take the direct approach.

“Last night was…” Lucy’s eyes widen over the mug and her entire body tenses. “Mind blowing,” I continue. “I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

Lucy’s blush deepens. I love watching it spread, until her face, her neck, and the interesting slice of cleavage the robe’s deep neckline leaves exposed are bright pink.

“Me either,” she whispers. Her shoulders relax slightly.

“I have to ask. How come you and your boyfriend never…” I look for a phrase that won’t offend or make her jumpy. “did the deed?”

Lucy looks down at the table and frowns. “Lance and I started dating about two months into our senior year of high school.”

“Let me guess. He was the captain of the football team, and you were a member of the marching band.” That seems to be how most of these kinds of stories go.

Lucy snorts. “I was in band, but Lance didn’t play football. He was in band with me. And he was our class president. That was actually how we got to know each other. He was president and I was class treasurer. We had a few officer meetings that ran late and he gave me a ride home, and somehow that turned into dating.”

“But not sleeping together.”

“No,” Lucy confirms. “Not sleeping together, at least not the way you mean.”

“How come?”

“Lance’s parents were, are, extremely conservative. Lance was less so. He wasn’t opposed to kissing and heavy makeout sessions before marriage, but he believed that … penetration, should be saved until after the vows. When we were in high school, I thought it was sweet. I was the only girl who didn’t have to worry about her boyfriend pushing her further than she wanted to go, and I didn’t have a single pregnancy scare.”

“Bet your parents loved that.”

“Lance was about the only guy in the school they felt comfortable about me dating,” Lucy confirms. “When we were in college, we kept dating and eventually got engaged. I thought my life was perfect. I was doing well in school. I had this amazing guy. And once we graduated, I was going to be his wife.”

Jealousy stabs through me, which is silly. Clearly, Lance wasn’t as great as she’d thought. If he was, she’d be sitting with him right now instead of me.

“What happened to Mr. Perfect?” The words come out sharper than I intend them to.

“He died,” Lucy says bluntly.

Oh shit!

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “It happened my junior year of college.”

“What happened?”

“Car accident. We were driving back to campus late one night after having dinner with his parents. It was January and there’d been a snow storm. The roads weren’t as clear as they should have been. The car hit a patch of ice and spun out of control. It hit a tree. Lance bled out.” Lucy touches the starburst-shaped scar on her cheek. “I walked away with this.”

“Oh, Lucy.”

“It was my fault.” Lucy’s voice is small, but it drips self-loathing.

“How could it be-”

“We were fighting. If I hadn’t been arguing with him, Lance would have been paying better attention to the road, would have noticed he was speeding and we’d never have crashed.”

And just like that, I understand why she shuts down whenever Suzie starts yelling at her and making unreasonable demands. In Lucy’s mind, conflict means tragedy.

I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine, offering what little comfort I can even as it feels like a steel band is tightening around my chest.

It’s just my luck. After a lifetime of searching, I finally find a woman I can see myself spending the rest of my life with, and she’s tied to the memory of a dead love. One whose death she feels responsible for.

How the hell am I supposed to compete against that?