Cleo Miranda Adams is a part-time clerk at a small antique shop and an aspiring guitarist. Music has been part of her life since birth. After a tough loss, she focuses on building a name for herself and doing what she loves.
Billionaire and perfecti...
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Have you ever been doubtless? Like about anything. A person or a decision. Like you think of everything that could go wrong, and you still have no doubts?
That's me right now. The decision being to love the man who's asleep next to me. This body of perfect imperfection. This man who owns me: heart, soul, and body.
He ruined my big plan yesterday, but I don't even care because I'm going to surprise him...if he would just move his arm just a little...
"Stop moving," his gruff voice makes me freeze. His grip on me tightens as he pulls me closer. I sigh. He is really pushing it.
I try to move again, only for this huge man to flip us over to the next side. Honestly.
"So you plan to keep me here all day?"
"Mhmm," is all he replies. I swear.
I turn in his big arms to face him. He has a shadow of a smile on his face. "This is funny to you?" My question makes his face crack in half with the smile I love so much. Instinctively, my fingers begin to trace his sharp features as my eyesight is blessed with deep blue eyes.
"Good morning," he speaks again. Will I ever get over his groggy morning voice? Doubt it.
"Good morning," I kiss his soft lips, and his tongue immediately sweeps across mine, making him pull me closer. I'm a bit conscious of my morning breath, but I'm in too deep. After our activities yesterday, he gave me one of his jerseys to sleep in sans underwear, of course. His big hands slip under the jersey, travelling up and down my sides. His touch is gentle.
He finally pulls away, breathless and says, "You can get up now." He beams at me, and I roll my eyes.
"Big baby," he pinches my hip. "Hey!"
He just laughs. That's another thing about him I love. His chuckle makes me feel butterflies, while his full-on belly laugh just makes me putty in his hands. I reluctantly pry myself away from him and off the bed.
I throw on some fresh underwear and one of his sweatpants. Of course, his gorgeous eyes observe my every move.
Something about his clothes makes me feel warm on the inside.
I do my morning routine and head downstairs. It's only now I get to admire the rest of his house. His living room was neoclassic with a mixture of off grey, creme and whites. In the middle of the room was a cloud grey couch pit with brown pillows varying in shade and blankets in each corner.
I find the kitchen and start to set my plan in motion. I check the time on my phone. 11 a.m. Perfect.
My mother taught me to cook everything. She never shied away from her American culture. Chris always said he wanted to try homemade American food, so I plan to make it for him.
My Instagram is full of food, so it took a while to decide what to make. I settled on spicy chicken fries for the main course, mozzarella sticks for the appetizer and red wine brownies for dessert. Yes, he gets a whole 3-course meal.
I put on some Harry Styles and start cooking. I tried my best not to get distracted and start dancing, but I'm only human.
2 hours later and I'm done. I set the table and make sure I have everything ready. Now to wake up, the guest of honour. This man slept like a log.
I open the door to his room, and the bed is empty. "Babe?" I call out.
"In here, baby," his voice sounds muffled. I followed the sound of his voice to the bathroom and saw him brushing his teeth... shirtless. I have no choice but to fight the urge of jumping his bones right now.My eyes trail down his toned back, admiring his form. And can I just say... this man got shoulders. One of the reasons I love hugging him. He's like a big teddy bear. The clearing of his throat grabs my attention. My eyes meet his, and he smirks at me. My cheeks burn as I innocently smile.
"Hurry up and come downstairs," I change the subject, but it doesn't diffuse the sexual time bomb between us.
He spits into the sink and winks at me. I shake my head with a smile and go back downstairs. I sit at the table with sweaty palms and a bouncing knee. I really hope this doesn't tank.
I hear footsteps, and he finally appears. I turn to see him, still shirtless with black basketball shorts, frozen like a deer in headlights taking in the scene. I think he stopped breathing. "What's going on?"
"Surprise!" his smooth chuckle rumbles through the room. I stand and pull out the chair for him to sit. "An American breakfast of the Italian love of my life," I say smartly.
"Thank you, tesoro," he kisses my cheek. He scans the table and the delicacies on it when a wide smile grows on his face.
He goes to take a bite of the spicy chicken fries, and I think my heart almost jumps out my chest. He must see my mini heart attack, so he stuffs in his mouth with a smirk.
I'm practically off the chair when he says, "It's delicious, baby."
I basically melt into my chair and sigh, "Oh, thank God!" I exclaim. His warm touch makes me open my eyes. His eyes alone calm me down, and my face flushes. "You really like it?"
He nods and kisses my hand. "Yes, my love." His answer makes me smile as we continue to eat in silence.
—
"Thank you for lunch, baby," I feel his arm wrap around my waist and place a kiss on my temple.
"You're welcome," I smile, "but that was only your first surprise."
"Oh?" he leans over to look at me. I nod, putting the last plate in the dishwasher. I turn to see his handsome face. "Meet me in the living room," I tiptoe to peck his lips before dashing to the bedroom to retrieve my guitar and notebook. I stand in front of the mirror, "you got this, Cleo."
I repeat my little mantra as I walk– more like quake– to the living room. Chris is seated in one corner of the sofa pit on his phone. "Hi," I whisper. God, I'm nervous.
His loving eyes meet mine as I sit next to him. "I- Uhm. I wrote a song for you. I was supposed to play it for you yesterday, but you know," I blush. He chuckles and nods in understanding. I embrace that sweet sound before refocusing on the task at hand.
"Anyway, yeah, so, Uhm, this is for you," I smile nervously. I fix my guitar on my lap and take a breath. I take the pick he gave me yesterday in my hands and start to strum. Here goes nothing.
