Free By Invitation Only by Lori Wilde, Wendy Etherington, Jillian Burns Page B

snuggle. That would have been too romantic. She didn’t need romance from him. Simple hot sex was fine by her.
    Just when she was just about to buy into her propaganda, Nick appeared at the sliding glass door, a tray in his arms. His face lit up when he saw her. He winked.
    She got up, wrapping the sheet around her—yes, he’d seen every inch of her last night, but now she was feeling a little shy—and padded to the door.
    “Breakfast in bed,” he announced.
    A flush of alarm flashed through her. He was romancing her!
    And she liked it. A lot.
    No, no, no.
    But the encouraging smile on his face and the delicious aroma of maple syrup, Belgian waffles and bacon had her scurrying for the bed. How did he know that Belgian waffles were her favorite?
    It’s probably just his go-to menu for the morning after.
    Once she was back in the bed, covers tucked around her naked body, Nick stretched out on the mattress beside her. Giddy goose bumps raised on her arms. He pulled a small square box from his pocket and laid it on the tray beside the single red rose in a bud vase.
    “What’s this?” she asked, her throat constricting.
    “Just a little something I picked up in the gift shop while I waited on the breakfast.” He shrugged. “Go on, open it.”
    “I can see why you have such a reputation as a Romeo. Breakfast in bed on the morning after, gifts. Seduction 101.”
    “You’ve got such an erroneous impression of me.”
    “Hmm. I wonder how I came by that impression? Oh, could it be because you blog about your conquests?”
    “I don’t blog about my conquests.”
    “You so do!”
    “I blog about what it’s like to be a single guy in Texas.”
    “Which includes conquests.”
    “I never name names.”
    “How noble of you.”
    “Are you going to open the present before you make me regret getting it for you?”
    “If it’s expensive jewelry, I’m not keeping it. I’m not that kind of woman.”
    “You seem to think I’m a throwback to some 1960s Dean Martin romp. Want me to wear an ascot and mix martinis?”
    She eyed him and the mystified look on his face had her laughing. He was right. In her mind, she’d created a slick, playboy image of him that didn’t really fit with the fun-loving, easygoing man beside her. She picked up the box, untied the crisp pink ribbon and removed the lid.
    Nestled on a bed of soft cotton lay a silver charm of a hammock strung between two palm trees.
    “As a reminder,” he said. “To slow down and enjoy life a little. All those charms on your bracelet are about work. You need something to balance you out.”
    “Oh,” she said, feeling breathless, and she had no idea why.
    “Here.” He reached over to pluck the charm from the box. “Give me your wrist and I’ll put it on for you.”
    She stuck her hand out and his fingers went to her charm bracelet. He opened the clasp on the palm tree charm and attached it to the bracelet between the Pulitzer medal and the miniature computer. His fingers were warm against her wrist and over the aroma of her breakfast she could smell his enticing masculine scent. Her stomach somersaulted.
    “There,” he said, let go of her wrist and leaned back.
    He looked so comfortable against the pillow, his dark hair a sharp contrast to the white sheets. His gaze hung over hers, that sweet expression on his face making her feel downright loopy with joy.
    “Livvy?”
    “Yes?”
    “You look so damn sexy right now.” His words sounded heartfelt. “All rumpled and naked and amazing. You’re better than I ever dreamed.”
    “You dreamed about me?”
    “Almost constantly since you read me the riot act in McGulicutty’s. Do you know how few women tell me off?”
    What did he mean by that? Had he really being dreaming of her? If she were being honest, she’d admit she’d had a dream or two about him herself.
    Uncertain of how to process her feelings, Olivia dug into her waffles. Nick reached over to filch a slice of bacon from her plate. The