Chapter 11

Jamie woke up with a thin band of light slicing across his eyes and a heavy weight on his chest. He put his hands to his aching head and the weight shifted, a sleepy murmur drawing his attention. He dropped a hand to Celeste's curls and stroked them absently, feeling the slight roughness of the healing cut on her forehead. She subsided into sleep again and he sighed.

Waking up with a mild hangover was not the best way to start any day. Waking up on his couch, rather than his bed, with a nubile twenty-something draped across his chest who he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he had been nothing more than a pillow for was somehow even worse. He tried to maneuver out from under her without waking her up.

"Jamie?" She stirred again and lifted her head. He smiled uncomfortably and edged out from beneath her body, turning away and using the arm of the couch to lever himself to his feet.

"It's early, Celeste," he muttered. "Go back to sleep."

"Can't." She yawned and sat up, stretching lithely. "I'm awake now. You have to go to work, don't you?" He glanced back at the wistful note in her voice.

"Do you want to come with me?" he asked on impulse. Her eyes brightened, then dimmed.

"I'd be in the way."

"One of the advantages of being the one in charge is that I get to bring whoever I want to the studio. Give me a minute to get cleaned up, and then you can get ready to go while I put together something like breakfast. Do you want the shower first?"

"No, thank you. You go ahead." Gratefully, he hobbled back to the bathroom and turned on the hot water. By the time he had bathed, shaved, and fumbled his way into clothes, he felt more human. He turned the bathroom over to Celeste while he started coffee, listening to the splash of water with an odd feeling of contentment. His third wife, Sarah, had complained that he was impossible to live with, because he saw her presence as an intrusion into his personal space. She'd been right, in a way. He had always hated having to share space with another person-- until Celeste came tumbling, head over heels, into his world.

Wondering if Celeste could ever feel like an intrusion, he stirred cream and sugar into both cups and waited for her to come out. A helpless, self-deprecating grumble from his bedroom drew his attention, so he picked up his coffee and wandered back to see what was happening. He immediately regretted the decision. Celeste was in front of the mirror, topless except for a pale blue bra, trying to adjust the fit of a pair of black leather trousers. The blue sweater he had paired with the pants lay neatly folded on the corner of the bed.

"They're too tight!" she exclaimed, shaking her head as she caught a glimpse of him in the mirror. "I can't breathe." Studying the way the slick material hugged her body, he touched his tongue to his lips and tried to form an answer.