21
Dillon
A knock on the door is what pulled me from a deep, dreamless sleep. Then I felt the warm body next to mine, felt the silky hair beneath my fingertips, and felt the lips kiss my chest, and I caught the scent that was distinctly Laurel.
“Morning,” I whispered, my voice gruff with sleep.
“Mmmm, morning,” came her reply.
That’s when the knocking registered and I realized someone was at the door.
“Breakfast,” I said, remembering that when I called concierge about the wine last night, I’d also put in a breakfast order.
I untangled myself from Laurel, and the covers, and crossed to my still-open suitcase to pull on a pair basketball shorts.
“Coming,” I called out to the persistent knocker, then opened the door with a grin and said, “Sorry about that. You can just put it right ov
