A selection of muffins were nestled invitingly in a wicker basket and tucked in beneath a gold cloth napkin. Under metal covers, sat a huge pile of scrambled eggs. Another platter held bacon, sausage, and ham slices, and a third hid a mound of hashbrowns underneath its metal lid. Timothy had ordered enough food for the entire hotel staff.
“We skipped dinner, so I thought we deserved a big breakfast,” Timothy told me as his eyes scanned my hair. “You look nice, my darling, but I like the wild side of you, too. Don’t forget that.”
The wild side of me was feeling very tame after our night of enthusiastic bed play. I felt like purring after so many orgasms, and if I’d been counting kisses, I think we would have beaten the Guinness Record Book for close encounters of the romantic kind.
Timothy was grinning down at me, having come to stand behind me where I’d sat down so I could start serving up some of the fluffy eggs.
“Does this meet your breakfast wishes, or is there something else you’d like?” he asked. “I could order pancakes or waffles.”
I laughed. “We have a whole basket of muffins. I even saw some chocolate chips ones. And there’s a jar of honey. What else could we need? Only, shouldn’t we invite the guys over so they can enjoy our feast?”
Timothy shook his head vigorously. “Nope. I’m not sharing this intimate breakfast with them. I plan to pretend you and I are on our honeymoon.”
After the night we’d just had, I doubted there’d be any difference — except for the piece of paper you get at the end of that big shindig called a wedding. I guess there might be an argument in favor of it if my mother, father, or grandmother were still alive. They’d want to see the big event. But, I didn’t even have a father to walk me down the aisle. And my friends were busy with other things.
“Planning your wedding?” Timothy asked, his lips curved into a devastating smile that told me he was once again probing my thoughts.
I think I blushed. My face felt hot. Perspiration attacked. Maybe I was coming down with the flu, but I doubted it. Timothy took my hand in his, massaged it a moment, then slid into his seat, still holding it.
“We can have the wedding in the chapel at Silver Falls,” he murmured softly. “You’ll like it there. I promise, but if not, we could shop around until you find exactly the right location. If the chapel doesn’t please you, we can use the reception hall in Silver Fall’s headquarters, or if it’s a smaller celebration, our house would work. Would you like that?”