“I love fucking you, Montana Kingsley,” he whispered against my ear.
I love you, too, Myles St. James.
He thrust one more time, and that’s all it took as he followed me into oblivion.
And in a perfect world, we’d stay here forever.
“Do you not cook often?” I asked as I held a hand beneath the spoon when he wanted to sample the sauce I was making.
“Not really. I have a chef at home who prepares my meals for me. I grew up with a chef at our home. And I never guessed this to be enjoyable.” He leaned down and tasted the sauce. “Damn, that’s good. You make being in the kitchen much better than I thought possible.”
I reached up and used the pad of my thumb to swipe the sauce from his cheek. “Cooking is relaxing to me.” I stirred the sauce one more time before setting the spoon down and turning back toward the island, where we’d pulled everything out of the refrigerator to make a salad.
Country music swooned in the background, and Myles looked adorably handsome the way he stood there watching me, like I was performing life-saving surgery instead of making penne pasta with tomato sauce.
“I’m feeling relaxed too.” He handed me a glass of wine. “So now we make the salad?”
I chuckled. “Now we make the salad.”
I had already cleaned all the veggies, and I handed him a knife and told him to start chopping the tomatoes and the cucumbers.
He took his job very seriously, meticulously cutting them into tiny cubes.
I tore apart the lettuce before placing it in the bowl, and he scooped up his pile of vegetables and tossed them in as well.
I was about to make a quick vinaigrette dressing when he startled me by pulling me against his chest, wrapping one hand around my waist and one around my neck. We swayed to the sweet sounds of NoahKahan, and it was surprisingly romantic. The fire crackled in the family room, and we just moved to the beat of the music.
It was simple. It was intimate. It was romantic.
I breathed him in, wishing this trip would never come to an end.
Wishing my time with him would never come to an end.
When the song changed, I pulled back and smiled up at him. “I’ll make the dressing; you check on the garlic bread.”
It was our last night in Banff, and we’d spent another day exploring this gorgeous place, having lots of sex, and eating the best food. We window-shopped, walked through an art gallery, and caught the tail end of a local band playing downtown while we sipped a glass of wine.
This was my new favorite kind of vacation.
We took our time chatting as we ate dinner, and I was trying hard not to focus on the fact that we were heading home tomorrow. Which meant this was almost over.
Wewere almost over.
We cleaned up our dinner dishes and decided to go soak in the hot tub.
Myles chuckled when he came walking back in the house after getting the fire going outside. “Why are you wearing a bathing suit?”
“I thought you said we were going in the hot tub?”
“We are. But no one is out here, so I’m not wearing a bathing suit.”
I raised a brow, strutting past him in my white bikini and his oversize white robe. “Well, maybe I’ll let you take it off once we’re outside.”
“Such a tease. Go get in the water, and I’ll grab us each a glass of wine.”
The outdoor fire was beautiful against the dark sky. It looked so pretty with the mountains in the distance and the moon overhead.
I set the robe down and slipped one leg at a time into the hot water. I tipped my head up to look at the stars. It was so peaceful out here. The tall trees swayed in the breeze as I sank into the hot water and groaned.
