It was his masculine scent that lured me out of my dream. His smell was so deeply entrenched in my psyche that I could easily recognize it, even unconscious. It was that rousing, faint scent of his aftershave and his own signature musk that never failed to make my insides coil. Some article online had stated that, if you loved or desired someone greatly, their scent evoked all sorts of reactions to your brain and body. This reaction could double in intensity if the particular smell was accompanied by something eventful. I, for one, could very well attest to it. It always drew me back to him like a force to be reckoned with. I couldn’t get enough.

On that note, I peeled my eyes open and was greeted by the rigid, hard planes of his chest. From this angle, I could appreciate it more.

Our bodies were still entangled, though his hold had loosened. I was keen to the fact that he had never withdrawn from me while asleep.

I stared at his face, contemplating what to do next, before I carelessly submitted to the urge to touch him, softly tracing his lines with my fingers. I grazed his morning stubble up toward the bottom of his lip, tracing it with my thumb. I then dragged my eyes toward his neck, my fingers following suit then trailing along his chest as it rose and fell before drifting to his abdomen.

Biting the inside of my lip, I caressed his defined lines and smooth ridges with a child-like mixture of awe and fascination. Inhaling sharply, I carried on with my exploration, and just when it was about to travel farther below, he swiftly clamped down on my hand with his, grasping it so strongly he almost cut the blood supply to my poor hand.

“You’ve explored enough.”

My throat constricted as our eyes clashed—mine wild, his full of challenging uncertainty.

“Why can’t I have free reign like you have with me?” I croaked out, unwilling to give up my newfound fascination with this close examination.

“I don’t want to cross the point of no return.”

My eyes dropped to the growing bulge that a mere sheet could barely conceal. The very thought of it—to feel its strength, its force—created a quiet storm within me.

“I want to taste you … just this once.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s a solid no.”

His answer wasn’t surprising at all. What was shocking was my relentless pursuit. No one could accuse me of not trying.

“Come, let me carry you to the bathroom,” he suggested with a pleading look.

If this was his way of diffusing the situation, he had a lousy way of doing it. Besides, like I had any choice. He would take me there, anyway, just to get me out of bed.

“Whatever makes you comfortable, Drew. Let’s have at it, yeah?”

He cupped my face before pressing his lips to my forehead. “You’re very precious to me. I just want you to know that.” He caressed my cheek with his lips, leaving a few marks before the bottom of his lip almost caressed the side of my own lips. Somehow, he stopped himself, breathing heavily against that part of the face where the bottom of the cheek met the curve of my lip. “God, I can’t. Why do I fucking want you so badly it’s almost painful?”

We both wanted it, this, but his conscience was getting in the way. How did one convince a decidedly stubborn man to abandon his “Chloe equals chastity” stance? He had done it once, and it seemed his guilt had gotten the best of him.

“We have all weekend to ourselves to get it out of our system. I’m all yours to do as you please.”

“No …” he drawled out the word without the harsh tone he had previously used.

I braced myself, and then I daringly brought his hand between my thighs before letting out a stifled moan. “I need you—here. I need to feel you—here.”

His eyes darkened, leaving little to no blue in their depths as he mustered the courage to have some form of restraint.

“Chloe—” he cursed my name when he felt me squeeze his balls with firm determination.

“We have a day and a half. That should be enough time … to get this out of our system,” I choked out, pressing his middle finger to my moist crevice, dipping it right between the fold. My other hand hadn’t detached from his member, and it was growing thicker by the second. I could feel his barriers beginning to crumble. It was his eyes that gave it away, roaming about me, then his labored breathing. Everything was coming into play, and I knew I had him under my spell … up until his phone began to ring.

Without bothering to glance at me, he stretched out to reach for his phone, simultaneously unlatching my hook on him. Just as he settled back, little, curious me got in the way and decided to cock my head to the side so I could peek at the screen. “Caroline,” it said at the top, and a whole list of women’s names lit up, showing me a glimpse of how many messages he had received while sleeping. It was probably a list of women who’d wanted a piece of him last night. No wonder he could easily refuse a woman—insert desperate me, begging for him when he could readily choose from a vast selection of models. According to Jackson, it was all he dated. I certainly wasn’t model material, and there in lay my damn problem.

Like hell I would change just so he would find me desirable. There was no lack of men who would appreciate curves, so this retched feeling of being too ugly needed to fester somewhere else. I had dealt with enough of these insecurities all through middle and high school. This bitch surely wasn’t welcome in this new phase in my life. I would boot it out even if it meant having to surround myself with people who saw the beauty of my sarcasm and wit, not my physical attributes.

With the spell broken, I felt foolish. Drew was letting me down slowly, yet I couldn’t seem to get it through my dense skull. I seriously had to stop trying.

“Pancakes and bacon for breakfast?”

His question threw me off.

Frowning, I blinked a few times. “Pancakes?” I asked, wondering why he would mention food at such a sensitive time.

“Yes, food. Pancakes, babe.” He shook his head before kissing my forehead. “Okay let’s get you to the bathroom to freshen up. Then I’ll cook while you sit like a good girl on top of the counter, cheering me on. I’ll even put some bananas and whipped cream on top,” he said, trying to entice my sweet-driven palette.

“Stop making it difficult to concentrate on not liking you right now.”

“You care about me too much to hate me.” He smirked then kissed my forehead again.

No truer words had ever been said.

Rolling my eyes, I finally relented and made him take me to the bathroom and afterward to the white marble island kitchen counter where I watched, grinning at his antics of pretending to be a master chef in his domain while speaking out loud about his masterful whipping technique as he explained the lengthy list of ingredients before showcasing how to properly butter a heated pan.

How could I keep a scowl on my face when he was being irresistible and cute? He and I would be fine. We had too much history to let it ruin everything, as friends or as close to friends.

For the remainder of the weekend, he tried to sleep in his bedroom, but ended up joining me in the wee hours of the morning. He and I never discussed what had happened the day after that first night he had slept next to me. I supposed, in a way, we had a silent pact that, as long as I behaved, we would enjoy each other’s company without the intimacy part. For the first time, I truly believed that we were building a friendship, the lasting kind.

He had been such a major help to me, and he didn’t mind that I relied on him. In fact, he welcomed it with a smile. It was one of those times that it dawned on me that I would rather keep this than harboring a lost love that carried a burden of endless heartache. I knew, in due time, I would eventually move on. For the time being, though, being friends wasn’t as bad as I had first thought. The funny, witty side of him resurfaced, and as a true friend, that was all I could hope and ask for.

As for the rest … I hadn’t scratched the surface yet. The best was yet to come.