Chapter 320: Morning After

The sun had barely brightened the sky into a deep blue when Catherine woke to a familiar sensation.

A warm hand was resting on her breast.

Again.

She blinked sleepily, turned her head, and found Maximilian lying beside her with his eyes half-lidded, looking for all the world as though he were still asleep.

Catherine stared at him for several seconds. Then she slapped his arm. “What is your fascination with boobs?”

Maximilian’s eyes opened. “Your boobs,” he corrected. “My fascination is with your pretty boobs.”

Catherine rolled her eyes, though she was fighting a smile. She had expected to be annoyed. Instead, she was mostly curious.

“I’ve heard that when men wake up from unconsciousness, they instinctively reach for their crotch,” she said. “But you? Guess what you reached for?”

“My precious balls are right here.”

His hand gave her another playful squeeze. Catherine burst into laughter and smacked his shoulder.

“And you know,” Maximilian continued solemnly, “I have mommy issues.”

He delivered the confession with such complete lack of shame that Catherine could only stare at him. Then she dissolved into another fit of laughter.

“He says it without even an ounce of shame!”

She slapped his back.

“Aww!”

Maximilian recoiled dramatically, rubbing his shoulder. “My entire back stings because of your fingernails.”

“Good.”

“You’re violent.”

“You deserve it.”

“I made your day yesterday.”

“You’re currently ruining my morning.”

“By holding my wife?”

“By molesting my breasts while pretending to sleep.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes.

“You were absolutely pretending.”

“I was conducting important research.”

“On what?”

“Whether you would notice.”

She stared at him.

Then, before he could prepare for it, she leaned over and caught his lower lip gently between her teeth.

His expression changed immediately.

Catherine smiled against his mouth. “There,” she whispered. “Now you’re awake.”

Maximilian’s arms went around her, and with one smooth movement, he rolled them over until he was above her.

His hair had fallen across his forehead, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about a quickie?”

Catherine tried very hard to suppress her smile. She failed.

“That is what you said last time.”

His eyebrows rose innocently. “And?”

“It lasted an hour.”

“That hardly sounds like a complaint.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Maximilian’s mouth curved. Then he put on an exaggerated pout.

“Are you bored with me already, Catherine?”

She stared at him. “This early in the morning?”

“It’s a serious question.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I am wounded.”

“Deeply?”

“Mortally.”

Catherine laughed and pulled him down by the back of his neck.

“That is enough.”

She kissed him.

Whatever argument Maximilian had been preparing vanished immediately.

The kiss began playfully, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in keeping it that way. His arms tightened around her, and Catherine smiled against his mouth as she realized that their mornings were probably going to become very dangerous indeed.

And judging by the way Maximilian kissed her back, he had absolutely no intention of complaining about that.

—–

Morning came bright and clear, sunlight spilling through the curtains as Samantha slowly woke.

Fitzgerald’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his body warm against hers. She could feel the faint soreness in her muscles, and when she touched her neck, she found it littered with little reminders of the night before.

She smiled.

She honestly had no idea how many times they had done it.

Turning her head, she found Fitzgerald still deeply asleep beside her. His usually composed face was softened by sleep, and there was the faintest smile on his lips.

Samantha watched him for a while.

What would it be like to wake up beside him every morning?

The thought made something flutter quietly in her chest.

Then reality crept in.

He was a Rathbourne. The sort of family that would suit an uppity woman like her aunt perfectly. Old money. Aristocracy. Expectations.

And Samantha? She wasn’t exactly the sort of woman who slipped effortlessly into an aristocratic family.

Would it even work?

She gently poked his cheek. His smile widened. Without opening his eyes, Fitzgerald pulled her closer, burying her against his chest.

Samantha laughed softly and settled there, listening to his heartbeat.

Steady.

For a few precious moments, the world was quiet. Then came a knock on the door.

“Sammy! It’s almost lunchtime. Wake up!”

Samantha froze. Her mother’s voice. Her heart nearly stopped. She immediately shook Fitzgerald.

“Wake up,” she hissed.

Instead, he puckered his lips and pulled her closer, apparently intent on kissing her while still half-asleep.

Samantha slapped the side of his head. Fitzgerald finally woke with a startled grunt, rubbing his head.

“Head trauma can make one a psychopath, you know.” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Fuck you!” Samantha hissed, shaking him by the shoulder.

“You did,” Fitzgerald murmured with a lazy smile. “Five times last night.”

Samantha’s heart skipped. She stared at him. He looked far too pleased with himself.

“Sammy!” Miranda called again from the other side of the door. “Your father is calling for you. Wake up!”

Fitzgerald scratched the back of his head, finally seeming to realize that they were not, in fact, alone in the world.

Samantha, meanwhile, had entered full panic mode. She dragged him out of the bed and toward the window.

“Jump.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

She snatched up his shirt and trousers, which were scattered across the room, and shoved them into his hands. Then she kicked his underwear and belt beneath the bed and pushed him toward the window.

“Scram!”

Fitzgerald stared at her as though she had suddenly lost her mind. Samantha shoved him again.

He sighed, climbed toward the window…

And Samantha rushed to put on her pajamas.

There… Crisis averted.

She smoothed her hair, took a deep breath, and opened the bedroom door with what she hoped was the dignity of a woman who had spent the morning doing absolutely nothing suspicious.

“Good morning, Mrs. Preston.”

Samantha froze. Very slowly, she turned around.

Fitzgerald stood behind her.

He was wrapped in her towel, his shirt thrown over his shoulders without a single button fastened, and he was calmly waving at her mother.

Miranda stared at him. Samantha stared at Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald smiled pleasantly.

“May I have breakfast, please?”