Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhett stirred, sleep-hazed, frowning at the pins-and-needles sensation shooting through his fingertips. He flexed his hand, getting used to it. During the night, Pepper had rolled close, the weight of her head cutting off his arm circulation. His ass was freezing. She’d hogged the covers, turning herself into a cute burrito, and even then, her feet remained the temperature of icicles.
What was it with women and cold feet?
He wrapped an arm around Pepper’s waist and drew her closer, breathing in her hair, savoring the fruity smell of her shampoo. They’d passed out after a round of marathon sex ending in lazily watching the last half of an eighties flick Pepper claimed as her favorite. “I have this weird love for Billy Crystal,” she’d said, cuddling against him. “He is cranky but adorable inWhen Harry Met Sally.”
Weird but even weirder was the fact the movie wasn’t terrible. He might have laughed a few times.
How had he gotten here? Gone from trying to convince himself he was better to actually being better. To being great. This situation smacked of crazy, like someone snuck into his pantry and moved around all the cans. Trouble had rearranged his simple, straightforward world into something strange and different. Happy even.
The sun rose high enough to fill the bedroom with light. Slowly Pepper stirred. A nose twitch. An eyebrow flutter. Next an eyelid twitch, followed by a wide yawn. She woke halfway through, her startled gaze locking on his. A piece of her bangs stuck straight up while sleep stuck to the corner of her eyes. She wasn’t trying to be anything other than who she was right then. His heart gave a painful lurch. Because the truth was that she was beautiful, inside and out, and for some magic reason wanted to be with him.
“Hey.” He took a steadying breath, fighting for levity. “Nice tonsils.”
“Hi there.” She hiked the sheet around her breasts, staring around, trying to gain orientation. “So…guess we’ve had another sleepover.”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly, smoothing her hair. “Guess so.”
“Is that okay? We never discussed going beyond a booty call.” She scrutinized him, gauging his reaction. “This wasn’t fling-y of me.”
It wasn’t. And he didn’t care. This was good. Better than good. Waking up with Pepper was fucking incredible, even if she made his arm fall asleep and his ass freeze. “Know something? You talk in your sleep.”
“Say what?” Her brown eyes widened.
“You recited a bunch of old man names.”
“The presidents.” She half-sat, full alert now. “The presidents of the United States.”
“Millard Fillmore was a president?”
“Yes. The thirteenth. Preceded by Zachary Taylor and succeeded by Franklin Pierce.”
He stared. Not only was she a knockout, she’d be able to KO the competition at Mad Dawg’s trivia night. “What else is stored in that brain?”
“Don’t even ask.” She grimaced. “I memorized the presidents when I was a kid and would recite them when falling asleep. Somehow they implanted into my subconscious. My sister used to complain about me reciting the names at two in the morning.”
He swallowed, dropping his gaze to her sweet mouth. “That’s sort of cute.”
“Oh? Grover Cleveland does it for you?”
He brushed his lips over hers, kissing her with a measured, intense rhythm, drawing the moment out until they both shivered. “Who?”
“Grover Cleveland. The twenty-second and twenty-fourth president, the only one to be unelected after four years and then regain the White House.”
“I thought you were talking about the Muppet.”
“Ha, no. And anyway that Muppet had nothing to see under his matted blue fur.” She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips before whispering in a husky voice, “Looks like Grover’s a grower and not a show-er.”
“I don’t know whether to be disturbed or turned on,” he said, rolling on top of her. They laughed into each other’s mouths.
What the hell had his life been before her?
There’d always been a usual ebb and flow to his Sunday. He woke. Chugged a protein shake. Ran with the dogs. Came home, cooked a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and zoned in front of sports cable until Beau quit working enough to take the boat out. He’d never had a morning like this, in bed with a woman he wasn’t meant to get serious about, who made bad jokes about dead presidents and somehow looked sexy doing it.
He was so fucked.
A faint whine wafted up the hall.
