His body tenses, so I know he understands my question. “Nothing to handle. I’ll just make no comment, and it will go away.”
I lift my head so I can rest my chin on his chest. “I hate to say this, but I’m not sure it will go away all that quickly. Maybe… Well, why don’t you just tell them you’re with me?”
“No.” He practically shouts the word, his lips flattening. And my heart caves in as if it’s been stomped.
“You don’t want to tell people about us?”
Instantly, he cups my cheek, his eyes going wide. “Shit, Fi, I did not mean I was ashamed or wanted to hide it. I mean there is no way in hell I’m bringing you into a media shit show.”
“That really should be my decision. Especially if it helps you. And I want to help you, Ethan.”
With a sigh, he flops his head back on the pillows and stares up at the ceiling, his hand still stroking my cheek. “Thank you for that, Cherry. But I can’t…” He takes a ragged breath. “Don’t ask me to agree to that. I couldn’t take seeing them tear you apart.” He glances down at me, his eyes now golden-green in the lamplight. “Please.”
“All right,” I say with reluctance. “For now. But, I swear, if a bunch of crazy women start stalking you, I’m stepping in.”
A slow smile curls over his firm lips. “Kind of love you being all possessive, Fi.”
I harrumph, but give his chest a little kiss. “I am sorry, though. That this is happening, I mean.”
“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “Me too.”
We grow quiet, lost in our own thoughts, Dex stroking my hair and me drifting in a strange half-sleep state.
“Six Underground” by the Sneaker Pimps plays softly from a set of bedside speakers.
“I never asked how you came to like trip-hop music,” I murmur, too content to talk louder.
“Are you asking me now?” There’s a smile in his voice.
“Smartass.” I give his ribs a little nudge, loving the way he squirms as if it tickles. “And yes. I told you when we first kissed that I didn’t expect you to like this music. It’s still a surprise.”
He takes a breath, and I lift along with his chest. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”
“That’s basically assuring I’ll laugh.”
“Fine. Laugh it up,” he says. “It was a car commercial. I kept hearing this song and…” He cranes his head to glare down at me, though there’s a smile on his lips. “You’re laughing already?”
I smother my laugh. “It was the same for me, is all.”
His lips twitch, those hazel eyes of his gleaming more gold than blue now. “Which song?”
“It was two songs. Morcheeba’s ‘Crimson’ and Massive Attack’s ‘Paradise Circus’. You?”
“Zero Seven’s ‘In the Waiting Line’.”
“I love that song. They used it in Sex and the City too.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” With a grunt, he turns, and suddenly I’m on the bed and he’s over me, his warm body gently pressed to mine. His lips find my neck and suckle. “God, I love the way you smell.”
My fingers comb back his loose hair. “And how do I smell?”
“Like happy dreams and well-fucked woman.”
A shout of laughter leaves me, and I tug him closer as he works his way along my collarbone, his hand sliding up to my breast. The thick slab of his erection presses against my thigh, tempting me, but I let the anticipation build for now.
“I love the way you smell too.”
He pauses, his lips brushing my shoulder, his beard tickling my breast. “How do I smell?”
“Like…” I smile up at the ceiling as I consider. “Pancakes and midnight.”
“Oh?” His voice is muffled as he resumes exploring my neck and teasing my nipple with the blunt tip of his thumb.