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Licking tequila off Reese’s body.

I open my eyes. She’s standing there in my shirt from last night, holding two steaming cups of coffee. “You okay? Alive?”

“I don’t think so,” I croak. “But it’s fine because, clearly, this is heaven.”

Reese laughs. The sound is like angels singing, I swear to God. Her hair is a tousled sexy mess spilling over her shoulders, and her lips look bruised. My cock pulses as I remember all the places those lips were last night.

I stretch my arms out, beckoning her toward me. “Come here, baby.”

Reese sets the coffee down on the side table and slides into my arms and now I know it’s heaven.

For a moment, I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I just hold Reese in my arms, letting myself feel the pure, liquid joy flooding my heart. The joy of finally having her here feels so fucking good. Because this is what I’ve wanted for way too long than I care to admit.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “Heaven is right here.” Then I grimace, letting out a breath. “That’s corny as hell, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, resting her elbows next to my face. “But I like it.”

To my surprise, a tightness grows in my throat, and on its heels, a tightness in my gut. The tiniest voice telling me this can’t be real. That I don’t get to have these kinds of feelings. But then Reese smiles, dipping down to kiss me, and at the feeling of her plush lips pressed against mine, I forget all about anything but her.

My hands slide down to her ass, but my head pangs then, a sharp spasm of pain that has me cursing. “I don’t want to move, but I need a painkiller, or I’m going to die for real, Reese.”

We take care of business—bathroom, painkillers, water, coffee, more coffee, and finally I insist we spend at least a few more minutes back in bed.

We’re sitting next to each other, lying really face-to-face, our heads against the propped-up pillows. “Cancel work today,” I say, brushing her hair from her cheek.

“I’ve started having Sophie take over Saturdays,” she says. “So, I’m not working.” Reese smiles, though there’s some kind of hesitation in her expression.

I’m too busy grinning back at her to linger on it though, at least not yet. “Perfect. I can make love to you all day.”

“Excuse me, I didn’t say I was free.”

I slip my hand up over her bare hip. “You mean you don’t want me to make you come again?”

“I didn’t say that,” she says, giggling as I tug her hips close to me. “But…” Her cheeks go pink. “I was going to head to the studio for a bit.”

“Let’s go.” I make like I’m getting up, but she tugs me back down.

“No!”

“No, you don’t want to go, or no, I can’t come?”

“I…” Reese hesitates, then buries her face in the pillow. Then she peeks up at me, and when she does, her smile is gone. “I don’t know if I’m ready to sing for you yet, Eli. For anyone.”

I want to kiss her again, to tell her she has nothing to be embarrassed about, that she sings like a goddamned angel.

I take her hand, pulling it up so I can see that tattoo on her wrist, the one that makes my blood boil.

“What was his name?” I ask. “Simon what?”

Reese looks down at the ink.

“Houghton,” she whispers. “But that’s not what the initials stand for. At least, that’s not all.”

I keep quiet, letting her continue only if she wants, even though I’m dying to know.

She meets my eye. “It’s what he used to tell me, back when I was trying to make singing my career. ‘Stay Humble.’”

I frown. “What?”