“Jane Austen’s ghost…” she whispers, closing her eyes, tilting her head back with a tiny moan. “That feels amazing.”

Fucking hell. This girl is going to give me balls as blue as the north-central Indian Ocean surrounding the coast of the Maldives Islands. I know because I’ve been there. Thrice.

And why does the thought that it’s been a long time—if ever—someone has paid attention to her body and its needs, make me want to hurl my control off the balcony and beg her to let me do it?

“We should go out,” she mutters between low moans with her eyes still pressed shut.

“What do you mean go out?”

What the hell does she mean go out?

“Like go out, grandpa. We should go to a bar. We’ll get some food, some drinks, maybe sing a little karaoke.” She opens her eyes and straightens her neck, making eye contact with me. “Let’s get drunk. We don’t have to wake up early tomorrow.”

“One, this is a five-star resort. They don’t have karaoke.” The word karaoke stumbles from my mouth like it’s dressed in synthetic fabrics and doused in canned cheese. “Two, that sounds like a horrible fucking idea—”

“Why?” Winter pulls her feet off my lap, but I’m quick to grab her ankles and pull them back. I press my thumbs into her other foot, making her body go slack and melt into the couch cushions.

“Because I don’t want to get drunk with you, capiche?”

“No, not capiche. Why?”

Because if I’m drunk, I might fuck you. And if you’re drunk, you might let me.

“Because when I go out, I like to have fun. Your nun-like status will bring down my good time.”

She nods curtly. “Okay. Cut the shit, Fox. You enjoy hanging out with me, and you know it. We love to hate each other. That’s our thing.”

Our thing? We have a thing?

“You’re everything I hate in a man, and I’m like, so beneath you. So we may as well make this fun. Come on, let’s get ready and do some drinking. The dive bar up the street has karaoke. You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to.”

“That’s like saying you don’t have to pay ten thousand dollars for a rectal exam if you don’t want to. Did you say dive bar?”

Fucking hell. Karaoke, dive bars, cake and ice cream for breakfast and dinner…

Mental note: Have Trent research the possibilities of doing a full-body detox and cleanse to remove the remnants of an entire human being from my life when this is all over. Otherwise, I’ll be oozing Winter Sommers from my pores weeks after we part ways.

Winter looks at me through heavy eyes while I move my massaging hands up to her ankle, then calf.

“Fine,” she breathes. “I’ll go out without you then.”

The fuck you will!

“Alright, Grimm. You win. But I will not, and I repeat, will not carry your lifeless body back to our suite. I will not hold your hair back if you puke. I will not babysit you. And if I retire to the facilities with company, you will not block my cock. Understood?”