I looked up, my eyes straying to his lips as a kaleidoscope of memories from the previous night flashed through my head. It was no wonder I was tired.
‘Definitely not bored,’ I said, pressing a kiss against his throat and enjoying the raspy feel of his stubble against my lips. ‘And we didn’t get much sleep last night.’ There wasn’t even a hint of complaint in my voice.
‘I feel like I ought to apologise,’ he said, running his thumb gently across my lips, which were still swollen from his kisses. ‘But there’s not a single thing about last night that I’d change.’
His fingers left my face and moved into my hair, which was spread out across his pillow. He picked up a strand, winding it over and through his fingers and held it up like a skein of silk. It caught the sunlight, turning the usual russet red into an amber flame.
‘I’ve looked through so many colour charts, trying to find one that matches this,’ he said, talking more to himself than me.
‘Farrow and Ball probably have one,’ I joked.
‘I was thinking more of oil paints than emulsion.’ He switched his gaze from my hair to my face. ‘I’d really like to paint you, Ellie.’
‘Do you mean “like one of your French girls”?’ I said, not sure why I’d gone for a sassy retort rather than a serious one. ‘That’s a line from—’
‘I know where it’s from,’ Rhys said with a smile. ‘And for what it’s worth, there was definitely room for both of them on that door.’
I dissolved into giggles that I tried to smother in his shoulder. I’d never had anyone so in tune with me before that we even shared the same sense of humour. There were differences between us, undoubtedly, but I took comfort in the fact that there were also many areas where we were well matched. I gave a secret smile, knowing I could now add ‘sexually’ to that list. Was that enough? Or was it just enough for now?
‘I suppose if the painting was for your eyes only, that would be okay.’
He tilted my chin with one hand while the other ran down my body, making every nerve ending tingle and my legs want to part.
‘I don’t want to share this with anyone,’ he said.
‘Me neither,’ I said, grazing my fingertips over the Lichtenberg figures on his chest.
‘They’re still there,’ he said reassuringly.
‘And now we’re here . . . sharing your bed.’
He pulled me closer towards him.
‘Finally,’ he said, his voice a husky burr. It was a beautiful moment that I somehow managed to ruin as my stomach growled noisily.
‘Hungry?’
‘Ravenous,’ I said with so much feeling that he laughed.
‘Okay. The fridge is embarrassingly empty, but if you can hold on for twenty minutes, I’ll go out and pick us up some breakfast.’
He was already swinging his legs out of bed and striding across the room. It was rude to stare, but my eyes couldn’t be torn away from the perfection of his body. If anybody deserved to beimmortalised in a painting or a sculpture, it was definitely him, rather than me.
‘If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to break my promise to feed you and end up climbing back into bed,’ he warned.
‘Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,’ I said, trying so hard to sound sultry and totally blowing it when once again my stomach rumbled.
He pulled on joggers and a t-shirt from the drawers of a pine dresser before either of us derailed the plan. After stepping into trainers, Rhys returned to the bed and pressed a quick hard kiss on my mouth.
‘Why don’t you try to get some sleep while I’m gone?’
I shook my head. ‘I think maybe I’ll have a shower, if that’s okay?’
‘Of course it is. There are clean towels in the bathroom cabinet and help yourself to anything you need.’ He inclined his head towards the dresser. ‘There are some of my t-shirts in the top drawer, if you want to wear something other than your dress.’ His eyebrows waggled comically. ‘Or you could wear absolutely nothing at all. That would be good too.’
We were both still laughing as he left the room, and moments later I heard the click of the front door closing.
The shower was double size – big enough for two, I couldn’t help noticing. I lifted my face to the enormous rainforest head and let the water pour down on me. It seemed like Rhys wasn’t the only one who couldn’t get enough of us. Maybe I should turn the thermostat down to cold, I wondered, as my fingers worked a thick sudsy lather of shampoo into my hair. It was tantalising to recognise the fragrances he used on my own skin. It felt almost – but not quite – as good as having him in there with me.