It’s easy to sleep like a baby when you’re not taking care of, well, a baby. It’s even easier to get a night’s good rest when you’re surrounded by the strong arms of a good man.

I awoke the next morning to streaming sunlight through the bedroom window; at some point in the night, though I couldn’t remember exactly when, we had relocated to the bed.

Ashton’s room, I now noticed, was the most personal place in the apartment. It held shelves upon shelves of books, most of them classics. There were some pictures on a nearby wall that appeared to be of his family and maybe friends from college.

He’d let me into his space, and I thought just how intimate an act that was for him, probably more so than mere sex. How could I reconcile the quiet, brooding man whom I’d slept with the cocky douchebag the world knew?

Suddenly, I realized that Ashton’s muscular arms were no longer curled protectively around my body. Gathering my wits about me, I realized it was a Saturday, so it stood to reason that he hadn’t needed to run off to work.

Rolling over, I felt the indentation beside me in the bed, roughly in the shape of Ashton’s powerful physique. The area was cold, lifeless; he’d been gone for some time.

“Nice,” I sighed to myself, then realized the implication of my lament.

Generally speaking, I loved having my own bed; I tended to roll around quite a bit, and there was also the question of sleep compatibility—sometimes, the person beside you took up too much space, or hogged all the covers. One of my earliest red flags about Kyle was that I hated sharing a bed with him, and often fantasized about how, if we were to get married, we’d have separate, twin beds, like a 1950s sitcom couple.

Now, to find myself mourning Ashton’s absence as though it were a personal affront…well, let’s just say I wasn’t ready to wrestle with this new development in my feelings. Too soon, I thought. Much too soon.

I inhaled slowly through my nose, then exhaled through my mouth, giving me just enough energy to scoot over to the nearest bedside table in hopes of checking the time. My phone…where was it? I struggled to remember the parts of last night that didn’t include me naked atop Ashton. Turned out, my memory was pretty selective.

At last, having wracked my brain, I realized that my cell must be in the kitchen. I pushed myself up to a seated position and allowed my feet to touch the bare hardwood floors, finding them to be the perfect temperature.

Next, there was the matter of finding clothes—it was entirely possible that Ashton had a housekeeper or two on retainer, and I wouldn’t want to shock some innocent woman with the sight of my naked body.

I padded across the floor and flung open the doors of what I believed to be Ashton’s closet, revealing a walk-in the size of my entire apartment. Inside were rows upon rows of perfectly pressed suits, as well as in-home suit steamer, which I didn’t even know was a thing up until that moment. The reminder of Ashton’s obscene wealth made me feel more than a little self-conscious.

I opened a nearby drawer, figuring that his more casual items would be folded away. Sure enough, I found a pajama top that would do the trick. Okay, it was a pure silk top with a monogrammed breast pocket, but that was about as casual as his closet seemed to get. I drew the soft, inviting garment around my body, and spared a glance in one of the full-length mirrors, noting that there was an after-sex glow haloing my entire figure.

With a satisfied smile plastered across my face, I turned off the closet lights and exited, shutting the door behind me. Remembering the path from last night, I traced my way from bedroom to kitchen, where I saw that my fears about surprising the maids had been unfounded; on the contrary, both of our clothes were still spread out across the entire room as if a mini hurricane had swept through and only alighted upon scraps of fabric.

“Damn, we did some damage,” I said aloud.

I was about to commence searching for my phone in the piles of clothes when I noticed a glass vase with a single rosebud sitting on the kitchen island. Leaning against the vase was a cream-colored envelope.

That wasn’t there last night, I thought.

Hesitantly, I inched my way to the island, where I found my name scrawled in excellent cursive across the envelope.

Could it be that Ashton Swann was such a romantic? Every moment I’d spent with him—or, at least, in his privately cultivated space—had convinced me that his formidable reputation was unfounded. With a pang, I reflected on how hard it must be to have your entire personality so drastically misinterpreted by journalists the world over.

I carefully opened the envelope, afraid to mar something so perfect. Inside, I found a note on matching cardstock, with Ashton’s initials embossed in silver on the top.

Harley,

I had a wonderful time last night. Words cannot account for the experience we had, so I shall leave it at that.

I’m sorry for leaving you so abruptly. I didn’t want to wake you with my departure, but I was called into the office and you looked too peaceful to rouse. In my absence, please feel free to stay as long as you like—what’s mine is yours, the house included.

There’s one more thing—I have to head to the Bahamas next week, as I’m to speak at a conference there. I hope this isn’t too presumptive, but would you and Levi be interested in coming as my guests?

Think it over—if you aren’t able to join me, I understand completely. In any case, let me know your answer soon.

Until then, I’ll be thinking about you and you alone throughout these dull and dreary meetings.

Ashton

My heart skipped one beat, then another. The Bahamas? With my hunky boss and my baby?!

I had to contact Ashton, and stat. There was no way his card was serious…right?

Flinging the card down on the countertop, I went rooting through the pile of clothes, at last locating my phone. My hands shook as I dialed Ashton’s number. What would I find on the other end of the line?

I pressed the phone to my ear, and stared at the rose as I listened to the dial tone. He picked up within moments.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly.

Forgoing niceties, I asked, “Ashton, were you serious?”

He didn’t need a glossary to understand my meaning. “Yes.”

“About the Bahamas, and me, and even Levi—”

“Again, yes.”

I went silent as his offer finally sank in.

“Are you still there?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied quickly. “I’m still here.”

“If you’d like to come along, I can pick you and Levi up on Monday morning.”

“As in, two days from now?”

“Yes.”

“But what about work? I don’t have many paid vacation days left.”

I heard a low chuckle on the other end of the line, and Ashton responded, “Well, luckily, you’re on good terms with one of the higher-ups.”

In my dazed state, I dumbly queried, “Who?”

“Um…”

“Oh, right, of course,” I said, catching up. “Sorry, this is all just so much, so unexpected.”

“You’re not required to say yes; you know that, right? I hope that the card made it clear I don’t expect anything from you.”

“I understand.” I hesitated. “And you’re sure Levi can come?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“In that case…yes. I—we—would be thrilled to come with you. I could use a break from the real world.”

He laughed and replied, “You and me both. And what better place to have one than in tropical paradise?”