“Well, it wouldn’t be a happy day for me”—his lips touch mine—“if I didn’t get to see you.”
I smile up at my beautiful man. I didn’t get him a present, I want to do something special for him. “I’m making you breakfast.”
“Happy to eat you.”
I giggle as I crawl out from under him. “No, tonight. You have to go.”
I have to get him a present today . . . Fuck. What the hell do you buy a man who has everything?
I get out of bed and pull my boxer shorts on and throw on his T-shirt from last night. “Is there food here?” I ask.
“Yes, it would have been stocked. You don’t need to cook, we can eat out.”
“We can be seen together here?” I frown in surprise.
“This is New York, I have a lot more privacy here through the day.”
“How come?”
“There are much more exciting celebrities for the paparazzi to chase. Nighttime is a different story, but daylight is good. London is like a fishbowl with nowhere to hide.”
“Oh.” I walk toward the door. “I’m going to make you the best damn breakfast you ever did see.”
He jumps up, fully naked, and picks me up and wraps my legs around his waist. His lips take mine and he opens the bedroom door. “But first.” He walks out of the bedroom as he holds me up. “I am going to fuck you on every hard surface of this apartment.”
I giggle as we kiss.
We hear a woman’s gasp. “Elliot.”
We turn to see Jameson, Tristan, Christopher, and Mr. and Mrs. Miles just standing there. Mrs. Miles has a Happy Birthday balloon in her hand, and her eyes are wide.
“Mom,” Elliot gasps.
Everyone’s mouth is open in horror.
“Surprise.” Jameson smirks as he raises an eyebrow.
Oh fuck. The blood drains from my face.
Tristan throws back his head and laughs hard.
My worst nightmare just came true.
Chapter 21
Elliot runs into the bedroom and slams the door.
I stare at his family in horror.
Christopher’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Kathryn Landon,” he whispers in shock.
The bedroom door opens back up in a rush, and Elliot grabs my arm and drags me in and slams the door behind us.
I put my hands over my eyes. “No, no, no, no,” I whisper. “That did not happen. Tell me that didn’t happen.”
Elliot is pacing, his hands are in his hair. “Tristan is a fucking dead man,” he fumes.
I slap him with both hands on the chest like a drum as I lose control and spiral into a panic. “Oh my God, Elliot. They’ll think I’m a ho. They’ll think I’m a ho.”
“You think you’ve got fucking problems,” he whispers angrily as he points to his dick: it looks hard and angry. “Not exactly what I want to show my mother before breakfast, Kathryn.”
“Elliot,” Tristan calls through the door.
“Prepare to die, fucker,” Elliot hisses.
“Should . . . we go?”
“Yes. No. I want Mom and Dad to meet Kate,” he calls.
I put my head in my hands. “They already met me, being a fucking whore bag,” I whisper in despair.