I’m beside myself.

A woman hasn’t slept all night with me since Simone.

Chloe shifts, as if she senses I’m watching her, and I brush my fingertips along the fine bones of her hip, resting my palm there with a territoriality that feels a little too caveman-like for my own comfort.

Can’t help it, though.

We’re spooning, which was comfortable a few seconds ago, but as I look at her closed eyes, the lashes resting gently on her creamy skin, the broad planes and high cheekbones of her face a work of art, I feel myself harden.

Last night was amazing.

How about we make the morning even better?

“Mmm,” she says, the sound a mix of slow awakening and an offer as she turns over, her body warm, her arm reaching for me, eyes still closed. “Nick?”

“Morning.”

She smiles, still not looking at me, and my palm squeezes her, the air freezing in my lungs. What’s she thinking?

I take the lead and lean in for a kiss. She wiggles closer, her legs entwining with mine, mouth cute and tentative until the kiss deepens. Within seconds it’s clear what we both want.

“Last night was amazing,” I say, putting words to what I’ve been thinking.

“I don’t usually do this,” she says with an open smile, those dark brown eyes alert yet sultry, aware but still relaxed.

“Do what?”

“Have a sleep over.”

“Me neither.”

“We’re breaking all our rules,” she says, her arms reaching up around my neck, her torso pressed against me, hips finding my erection, grinding just enough to make it more than clear what she wants next.

That’s how exceptions work, I think, but before I can say it, I’m over her, hands taking in the smooth fullness of her breasts, pert and small but more than enough, one nipple tasting like sweet musk and sunshine.

Blood pounds through me, sending energy to places long dormant, and all I want is to be in her again. The easy intimacy is so foreign. Pure.

Perfect.

And then her head disappears under the covers. No giggles, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Chloe knows what she wants and goes for it.

I’m dreaming, right?

The slick warmth that envelops me and makes my abs tighten isn’t part of any dream I’ve ever had before, though. Miles Davis plays in the background, a tune that morphs into a rhythm that becomes damn near feral.

“Chloe,” I choke out, overcome by the hot surprise of this morning gift. I look down to see the covers tenting her, her mouth working magic on me, one hand on my inner thigh, the other cupping my ass.

No woman has ever been so uninhibited in bed.

And then she does something with one hand and her tongue that makes me forget anything exists but her, this bed and—

RING!

I sit up sharply, pulling back, shocked by the sound of my phone’s ringtone.

“Nick?” Chloe’s muffled voice comes from under the covers, then her face peeks out like a turtle in a shell.

“Damn it. That’s my phone. Someone’s actually calling me.”

“Ignore it.” Her head disappears under the covers again and oh, God....

I sigh. “I can’t.” Regret infuses every syllable as I twist and reach for the phone. Where is it? I climb out of bed and search the floor for my pants. “My kids. You know...”

“Oh.” Her voice holds a tone of surprise. “Right. Of course.”

I don’t want to blow this. I don’t. And if this is some stupid work issue, I’ll kill the caller. But if something happened to Elodie or Amelie or Jean-Marc and I didn’t answer the phone...

I grab my phone and climb back in bed.

Elodie.

Chloe snuggles up as I answer.

“Hello?”

“DADDY! OH MY GOD, YOU’RE ALIVE!” Elodie screams, the sound so loud I flinch and pull the phone back from my ear, dropping it on my knee.

Chloe’s eyes pop open and she gives me a questioning look.

A deeply amused, questioning look.

“Of course I’m alive. Has someone told you otherwise?”

“I came home to do laundry and no one is here!”

I look at the time. Seven fourteen a.m. The one time that child is awake before noon. Damn. Long night. Early rise.

Chloe starts playing with the hair on my chest, then gently teases one nipple with the end of a perfectly-manicured fingernail.

I clear my throat with meaning.

Her eyes go impish.

Oh, no.

“Yeah, well....” I can’t really speak. I need to get off the damn phone. My erection deflates like a blow-up kid’s slide at closing time at a New England town carnival.

“Where are you? On business?”

“You could say that. What are you doing at the house so early?”

“Getting down to business,” Chloe mutters, reaching up to bite my earlobe.

Electricity shoots through me.

“Daddy! Amelie said she couldn’t find you, either! Remember I’m here early because we need to do all our laundry at once? I’m going on that trip to D.C. for one of my classes tomorrow night. Is something wrong? Have you been kidnapped? The security alarm says you haven’t been home since 5:42 p.m. yesterday.”

Damn safety system. Installed it to manage escaping kids when they were younger and now they’re using it to track me.

“I’m fine.”

“He’s fine,” Chloe says, just loud enough for Elodie to hear.

And I let her.

“DADDY! IS THAT A WOMAN?”

I wince. Honesty is the best approach.

“Yes.”

“Where are you? Having coffee with someone?”

“Mmm, coffee,” Chloe purrs. “Want some in bed?”

“ARE YOU IN BED WITH A WOMAN?” Elodie screeches.

I do what any red-blooded man with a naked woman in bed beside him and his barely-adult daughter screaming on the phone about his sex life would do.

I end the call and turn off my phone.

Before Chloe can get out the room, I grab her from behind and gently throw her on the bed, laughing with her.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” I growl, half embarrassed, half amused.

“Do your grown daughters always track you down when you’ve slept with a woman?” Her tone is light, but I can see the mild horror in her eyes. If the roles were reversed, I’d hesitate, too.

I go serious, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead, taking my time to answer. Her body is trim and smooth beneath mine, our exposed skin hot and needy, my elbows supporting my weight as Chloe’s pensive look makes me feel everything.