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Slowly. Intentionally. Not falling into bed because it feels so mind-blowing wonderful.

“Not yet?” he asks, and his lips are tilting up at the ends.

“No.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between mine, his lips pressed together like he’s fighting a laugh, and then his arms are around me, holding me tight to him, flush to his body, my hands on his chest pressed and sandwiched between us.

“I can take ‘not yet,’ ” he says, and I can hear the humor in his thick voice. “Because you’ve just told me it’ll happen again, and with how good we are together, trust me, I have no problems waiting until you’re ready.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He pulls back, one of his hands sliding up my back to cup the back of my neck. His look is serious, full of intent and desire, but also honesty. “Yes, Cara. Anything worth having is worth the wait.”

“Okay.” It comes out as a squeak, and Braxton laughs.

He pulls away from us, and reluctantly, I let him go, dropping my hands only to have one of them taken in his palm.

“Let’s go back out there, ignore Abby—”

“Anna.”

“Whoever, and get you home to bed. You need your rest.”

—

I stretch in bed, lazily shoving my arms above my head, my eyes jumping open when they hit a wood headboard I’m entirely unfamiliar with.

Sitting up, my stomach dips and a quick glance around settles my surprise, but not my stomach.

I’m in the guest room at Braxton’s, although I have no memory of the trip to either his place or the bedroom.

“Ugh.” I drop my head into my hand and groan. I must have fallen asleep on the way home. I barely remember saying good night to Luca.

I do recall the searing glare Anna sent me on our way out the door. It was one filled with “You’re such a tramp, forgiving a man who can cheat on you,” based on the way she also glared at my hand clasped with Braxton’s as we left the gallery.

Braxton had leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Ignore her. No one needs to know our story except those we choose to share it with. Okay?”

I’d mumbled an agreement, slid into the passenger seat of his car after he helped me in it, and remember nothing else.

“Damn,” I groan, and slide my legs out from beneath the thick, plush covers and stare at my legs.

They’re bare.

A quick check tells me I’m entirely naked save for the black satin underwear I was wearing the night before. I jump out of bed, my stomach rolling with such force I fall forward, slamming my hand onto the nightstand.

Damn it. I have to remember not to move so fast. And eat, as soon as I wake up. My hand brushes against something that makes a crinkling sound.

Yes. Damn, he’s good.

Crackers. Juice. One of my antinausea tablets, and a note.

Take meis scribbled on it. I shake my head and grin.

He apparently thinks of everything, including how to see me naked again.

My cheeks heat, and I quickly sit down on the bed, shoving a cracker into my mouth and almost draining the glass of juice before I take the tablet.

Lying back down on the bed, I drape an arm over my eyes, blocking out the morning light. I have no concept of what time it is, but I’ve learned that even after taking my meds, it’s best to lie still for a few minutes, nibble on a few crackers, and rise slowly. This morning’s jolt to awareness has me queasier than I’ve been in recent days, so it takes me longer, but eventually, I feel steadier. Once I do, I use the restroom and wash my hands, and only then do I spy the makeup kit I’d packed in an overnight bag on the counter. It includes travel-size toiletries and hair products.