Plus One

Chapter Twelve

Ian had never come harder in his life.

He slowly pulled out of Sophie and lay on his back, the sheets a tangled mess over their bodies. It was the fifth time he'd made love to her that night and it still wasn't enough. He couldn't remember ever wanting someone so much.

Her body molded to his, a perfect match. He loved the way she trembled beneath him, the hunger in her kiss. He had yet to tire of her skin against his, so soft and supple. Just thinking about her moans and the way she gasped his name was enough to get him hard all over again.

It had been hours since they'd left Cirque, hours since he'd begun undressing her on her front porch. Dawn light was slowly stealing through the room, turning the inky darkness that had cocooned them all night to a soft gray. He turned to look at her, smiling as he saw Sophie's eyelids flutter, then close. He'd certainly given her a workout.

Ian pulled the sheet up, then gathered Sophie to him, his cheek against her head. He drifted off to sleep with her warm body against his.

When he woke up, late morning light was streaming through the sheer curtains. Sophie was gone, but he could hear music downstairs. Ian lay in bed a moment, flipping through memories of the night before. He was pretty sure he'd just lived through the single greatest night of his life—he'd taken her five times, each one better than the last. Sophie was mind-blowingly good in bed and the best part was, she didn't even seem to know it. Didn't need to try. He got out of bed and laughed as he realized his clothes were lying scattered on the living room floor. He went into the master bathroom and wrapped a towel around his waist, then padded downstairs.

Sophie was in the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a low cut, loose tank top. She was singing along to the music—Billy Holiday—and cutting fruit.

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above, it's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love...

He watched Sophie for a minute, enjoying observing her without her knowing. Maybe he should introduce her to his dad. She charmed everyone else, why not him? No. He wasn't going to pull Sophie into this inheritance mess. She wanted the real thing, not a business arrangement. She'd told him point blank. She didn't love him. And even if she did, she wanted something he couldn't give her. I want someone to love me, she'd said. He didn't want to ruin what they had: if he asked her to marry him, she'd go running in the other direction.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said as she noticed him loitering on the staircase.

"You have a really good voice," he said.

She blushed—god how he loved to make her blush. It turned her whole face rosy.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she said. She reached into the cupboard and took out a mug.

"Coffee?"

He nodded, then caught sight of his clothes neatly folded on an armchair. He grabbed his undershirt, pants, and boxers, then leaned over the counter and pressed his lips against hers.

"Good morning," he murmured.

She rested both palms against his cheeks and kissed him back. She glanced at the towel around his waist.

"I think you should go around like that more often," she teased.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes."

He laughed, shaking his head, then went into the downstairs bathroom to change. When he came out, the sliding glass door leading out to the patio was open and Sophie was setting a plate of croissants on it, along with the fruit.