“I didn’t know if you liked champagne. I couldn’t remember. So I got your favorite red too.”

The label indicates it’s a bottle of red wine that I rarely splurge on—generally only when Owen is buying because it’s forty-five dollars a bottle. And while it tastes so much better than the ten dollar bottles I usually buy, it’s a bit outside of my preschool teacher’s salary.

“I like champagne. For special occasions.” My voice has gone soft, and apparently Justin notices. Is this a special occasion? I wonder.

His smile fades away into a more predatory look and he moves across the kitchen until we’re standing face-to-face. He places one hand on my waist, lightly squeezing.

Oh. Am I the special occasion?

“But the roses, the chocolate?” I ask, tilting my head in confusion. We’ve already had a re-do on our first time. Haven’t we? Although it wasn’t exactly like careful planning went into it—we just kind of fell in to bed together, our bodies desperate for contact.

He’s quiet for a moment as he takes me in. There’s a look of silent admiration in his eyes. “I wanted to make up for my behavior our first time together. I, um,” He rubs one hand over the back of his neck, looking unsure for just a moment. “I didn’t know for certain it was your first time until after, and I think your first time should be special, right?”

“What are you saying?” I cock my head, studying him.

“I want to make tonight special. For you.”

My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. He wants to completely re-do our first time together. It’s the sweetest, kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me, but I can’t let myself read too much into it.

He fucked up—he’s trying to fix that—end of story.

This isn’t some grand, romantic gesture, and I can’t make it out to be.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” I say, though my smiles conveys how much I appreciate it.

There’s also a bag of nacho flavored chips and a bottle of blue Gatorade. “And this?” I ask with a chuckle.

He grins, removing the duffle bag from over his head and setting it on a nearby dining chair. “Post-sex snack,” he says like that makes perfect sense. “A man needs his replenishment, Elise.”

“Right.” I nod, feigning a serious expression. “Of course.”

“Let’s have a glass of champagne,” he suggests. “It’s already chilled.”

“Perfect.”

He gets to work on the cork while I locate two suitable glasses in the cabinet. I don’t have champagne flutes, so my stemless wineglasses will have to do.

While he fills each one with the bubbly golden liquid, I place the roses in a vase of water and sample one of the strawberries.

“Oh my God, so good,” I say, bringing one to his lips so he can taste a bite.

He makes a small, pleased sound as he chews. Then we carry our glasses to the couch and settle in side by side.

“This is so nice. We have all night,” he says, bringing his glass to mine before taking a sip.

I do the same and the bubbles dance across my tongue as I swallow.

It’s crisp and refreshing and delicious. I don’t even want to think about how much this bottle cost. It feels so decadent to me, but maybe this isn’t that big of a splurge to him at all. I often forget that Justin is a millionaire. Mostly because he doesn’t act like it.

I take another sip and try to relax.

“What else did you bring?” I recall that he hadn’t unpacked the last bag of groceries—or the duffel bag.

“I brought pancake mix for the morning, maple syrup, a skillet and a ladle. I wasn’t sure if you had those.”

I grin at him. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

I wonder if he’s also so thoughtful with all his dates, and suddenly I feel a hot pang of envy at all the women who’ve come before me.

I take another sip of my champagne while Justin watches me. I feel so warm and excited already, but clearly I suck at making the first move, because rather than do anything about it, I sit here, drinking my champagne while my heart flutters wildly and I grow more and more impatient.

Finally, he moves closer on the couch, setting his glass down on the table, and then removing mine from my hands to place it beside his.

He offers me his hand and when I accept, he pulls me up and into his lap so I’m straddling him.

“I really was serious about us being exclusive, Elise. For however long this lasts,” he says.

I nod and press my lips to his.

We kiss deeply, our tongues moving together in an unhurried pace as I push my hips into his lap.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, his lips moving to my throat. I move against him, loving the firm feel of his body beneath mine. “I want you.”

“So have me,” I whisper back.

Justin stands, still holding me and carries me to my bedroom. But he stops at the threshold and sets my feet on the floor. “Shit. I almost forgot. Wait here?”

I nod, unsure about what’s happening.

He grabs the duffle bag from the nearby chair and shuffles past me into my bedroom. I hear him moving around the room, but it’s dark and I don’t have a view of what’s he’s doing.

I hear him stub his toe against the bedframe—I know because I’ve done the same thing many times—and he curses loudly. I barely hold in a chuckle.

“Justin?”

“Just one second,” he calls.

What is he up to?

When Justin emerges to meet me in the hallway, I expect his face to hold a playful grin like I’ve come to expect from him. Instead his expression is serious. I’m not sure what to make of that.

He lifts my hand, presses a kiss to the backs of my knuckles, and urges me to follow him. We walk the few steps into my bedroom, and I’m taken aback by the scene before me.

There are about a dozen lit tea light candles placed on every surface—a few on my nightstand, several on my dresser. The entire room has a pretty, golden glow.

There are more pink roses than I originally saw. Their long stems decorate my bedside table and a generous heaping of soft petals are scattered in the center of my bed. Oh my God. They’re in the shape of a heart. It’s so cheesy, but so perfect, I want to laugh and melt all at the same time.

I had no idea this playboy had a romantic bone in his big, overly-muscular body.

It takes me a minute to realize soft music is playing in the background—the sound is coming from his phone. I recognize the sensual, moody playlist from our time before and grin.

“Justin,” my voice breaks. “This is…”

I don’t get to finish that sentence because his mouth is suddenly pressing into the back of my neck in a damp kiss as he lifts my hair over one shoulder.

“You in these goddamn leggings.” His firm hands skim down over my hips. “It drives me fucking crazy.”

I swallow and lean into him so my back is against the wide expanse of his solid chest.

“That night you came over and cooked for us, I couldn’t keep my eyes off your curves.”

I love hearing his words, love getting exposure to his inner thoughts like this.

“I was half-hard the entire night.” I melt back into his touch, but he’s not done. Wrapping both arms around me, he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Loved having you in my space, cooking for me, feeding me, even if I couldn’t show it.”

I grin wryly. Hockey players can eat more than anyone. Of course the way to his affections is through his stomach. Something about that amuses me.

I have so many things I want to say. I want to thank him for making tonight so special, for all the effort he’s obviously put in, but Justin turns me in his arms and leads me to the bed. I lower myself to the mattress, sitting on the edge of it. My shirt comes off and then my bra. His hands are on my breasts, already massaging and caressing as I unbutton his pants, and work my hand inside his boxer briefs. He’s already hard for me and oh my fuck, that does something for me.

He makes a low groan and then leans down to pull my leggings down my hips. I lift my behind off the bed as he tugs my pants and everything down at once until he removes them completely. I’m suddenly naked while he’s still fully clothed.

“No fair.” I pout.

He frowns. “Are you cold? I should have turned up the heat.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just think you should join me.” I work my hands under his shirt and press my hands to his firm stomach. His muscles jump under my touch.

Then he’s pulling the shirt off over his head and dropping his pants just as quickly.

Justin Brady naked is a fine work of art, but I barely get a second to appreciate the view before he’s guiding me back onto the bed. He cages me in underneath him, his forearms on either side of my shoulders as his warm body covers mine. The feeling is amazing. His hard length is pressed right over my pubic bone, and when I wrap my legs around him, it comes perfectly in line with my center.

His mouth covers mine in a hungry kiss—and we stay like that for a long time. His tongue stroking and flirting with mine while his erection grinds against me in the most maddening way possible. I’ve never been kissed like this. Open-mouthed, demanding, and insanely passionate.