She yelps, arms wrapping around my neck, laughing as I carry her past the perfume still pooling across the vanity surface.
I lower her onto the tangled sheets. She pulls me down with her, arranging us until her head rests on my chest and her leg hooks over mine.
"Stay," she whispers against my skin. "Just for a little while."
I press a kiss to her hair.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Her breathing evens out after a few minutes, not quite sleep, but close. Relaxed in my arms in a way I've never witnessed through any surveillance feed. The tension she carries like armor has finally drained out of her.
This. This is what I've been watching for. Waiting for. Working toward.
I let myself have this, the weight of her against me, the smell of jasmine and sex, the quiet rhythm of her breathing.
A buzz from the floor. From my pants, somewhere in the tangle of clothes next to the bed.
I ease out from under her with careful movements, trying not to wake her, and fish the phone from my pocket.
Xander:Ice cream consumed. Uncle Sal successfully charmed. Chesca's asking when she can come home. ETA 20 min if you need more time. Otherwise heading back now.Five minutes.
Twenty minutes. Or now.
I glance back at Angelina, curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. The scratches she left on my shoulders throb with a satisfying ache.
We need to clean up. Air out this room. Make it look like nothing happened before an eight-year-old comes home and asks why Mamma's bedroom smells funny.
Me:Give us 20.
Xander:Copy. Grabbing a second round of ice cream. Kid's got good taste—went for the salted caramel.
"Firefly." I stroke her hair. "Wake up."
"Mmm." She burrows closer, face pressing into the pillow. "Five more minutes."
"Chesca's on her way home. Twenty minutes."
Her eyes snap open. "What?"
"Xander's bringing her back from Sal's."
"Oh God." She sits up, sheet pooling at her waist, hair a complete disaster. Her eyes sweep the room—the tangled sheets, the spilled perfume, the clothes scattered across the floor like evidence—and her face flushes. "Oh God, this room smells like—"
"Sex," I supply helpfully.
"I was going to saypoor life choices, but yes." She's already moving, swinging her legs off the bed. "I need to shower. You need to shower. We need to open every window in this room and possibly burn some sage."
"I don't think sage is going to cover Chanel No. 5 mixed with—"
"Do NOT finish that sentence." But she's smiling, even as she grabs clothes from the dresser at random. "Go. Your bathroom. Now. And for God's sake, do something about that hickey before my daughter asks uncomfortable questions."
I catch her arm before she can disappear into the bathroom. Pull her back against my chest.
"Angelina."
She looks up at me, and for a moment the frantic energy drains away. Just us, in the afternoon light, in the room that smells like everything we just did.
"I meant what I said." I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. "I'm not going anywhere."