Who looks starving for my body.
No, the fire in his eyes is much more complex than simple lust.
So is yours.
Stupid inner voice. All day, that voice has been going on and on about Travis being the most amazing man and lover on the planet. That if Iwereto start dating again (actually, what it saidwasif we weredating, so I was forced to argue with myself, which is never a good sign), Travis Warner would be a good choice.
Of course he would. He's confident, handsome, has amazing genes (and looks hot as sin in jeans!), wealthy, and successful...and owns a sex club.
Great.
How would that work if we got married and had kids?Sorry Mom, we can’t come over for dinner. Trav is at the sex club tonight, probably having his dick sucked by some twenty-two-year-old, and I’m taking the kids to the movie.
Because there’s no one on earth who can tell me this man, with his insane sex drive, is only going there to work and have cups of coffee.
No way.
No way in hell.
I should have told him I know about it. It’s a moot point, anyway. Despite seeing him as a man I could walk down the aisle to and seeing him protect and love our children, I need to remember what he said.
Don’t mistake possession for love, Brook.
His reaction to me saying I didn’t want kids. That wasn’t what I said, though. Not all women get the chance. It seemed to trigger him. Perhaps because he lost his parents and there’s some link psychologically.
It’s very sad. I have so many questions, but I saw the pain in his eyes, so for once in my life, I stopped asking them. But I want to know if they left him money or if he created this success from the ground up. I’d admire that.
And why did he feel the need to create a sex club?
I guess he’s a billionaire playboy.
Not a man that takes a woman away to Switzerland for a romantic weekend. Not someone who falls on the snow and starts giggling and making snow angels.
That might have just been me. He could have been kicking his ski to stand up. I am sticking to my story, though. Travis Warner making snow angels makes my heart melt.
I snap out of imagining a set of little Travis-Brooklyn twins lying on the snow between us and lift my head off the hot tub pillow.
“God this is amazing.” I moan.
“I might go cut the fuel hose so we can’t fly home.” Travis chuckles.
I don’t think that’s how it works on jets, but I’m no mechanic, so I smile. Because I love that he wants to stay here with me too.
“Thank you for bringing me.”
“It’s my pleasure. Literally.” His foot glides up the inside of my leg.
“So,” I start, wanting to focus on the promise I made with myself when I agreed to this weekend. “Terrance Taylor.”
His foot falls away. I study the lines around his eyes, which deepen when I mention his friend.
“My team hit a brick wall when we looked into your friend.”
“Yeah?” Travis turns and picks up his tall glass of water. He tugs out the straw and tosses it away, then takes a long sip, watching me.
“What year did you meet him?”
“Can’t remember.”
