I lie on my side watching him as the morning sun casts a glow over his skin. His torso is so tanned. Considering I only ever see him in suits, I have no idea when it sees the sun. His eyelashes are frustratingly long and thick. Why do men get such good natural ones?
The dips and grooves of all his muscles lift and drop with his rhythmic breathing. I can’t believe I thought he wore a bulletproof vest. Part of me still didn’t believe that was really his strong, solid body beneath his shirts, even when I’d felt his heart beating against my palm. But now I can see that it is.
He’s huge.
And beautiful.
Annoying, assigned to be with me at all times, grumpy, occasionally harsh, stupidly stubborn, and sometimes far too silent for his own good…
But beautiful.
Gentle and strong.
I wrinkle my nose as I stare at him. Zoey would be laughing her head off if she could see me, convinced that there’s something to it. But there isn’t. After yesterday, I’m just grateful to have him around, that’s all.
He saved Monty.
He could do a million awful things to me. Hurl a billion mean words at me. But I’d still be grateful to him for that.
I inch closer, the scent on his shirt I’m wearing matching the one that’s coming from his warm skin as he sleeps. Maybe I should tell him he snores like a pig when he wakes up. He’ll get all grumpy, pissed that he fell asleep in my bed. He takes everything so seriously. Him falling asleep in here is probably crossing some huge client/bodyguard line that he has.
I prop myself up on his pillow with one elbow, stifling a yawn. I slept terribly, but I’m grateful that I don’t remember my dreams. I know enough to be certain that they were horrid and dark. And somewhere I don’t want to return to now that I’m awake.
Something hard digs into my arm beneath his pillow.
My eyes flick to Denver’s sleeping face.
I slide my hand beneath his pillow, understanding what it is the second my fingers graze the cool metal.
“No!”
My back hits the soft mattress as he pins me to it, one hand curled around each of my wrists, holding them against my pillow, either side of my head.
“Don’t touch that,” he growls, his green eyes burning into mine, all hints of sleep evaporated.
My lips part as he hovers over me, close enough that I’m breathing in each tense exhale from his mouth. My legs are open wide, and his thick body is pressed between my thighs from where he’s spun me so fast.
He shifts a little, his brows scrunching together as something long, hard, and thick moves away from where it was pressed against my inner thigh.
“You don’t touch that,” he rasps. “Ever.”
I lick my lips, gazing at him.
“Are you talking about the gun under your pillow or that hard monster in your pants?”
“Jesus Christ,” he snaps, letting go of me and pulling back in a shot. “My fucking gun, Sinclair.”
I sit up as his chest heaves with angry breaths.
“Relax. I’m joking with you. I have—hadtwo brothers. I know all about morning wood. I won’t get ideas that it’s because you like me,” I say, trying to lighten the tension that’s engulfed the room. “God,” I huff when Denver won’t even look at me. “You’re so much easier to like when you’re asleep.”
His jaw flexes, and he retrieves his gun from beneath the pillow and holsters it by his hip.
“I’m going to get some fresh clothes from my car. Will you be okay for five minutes?”
My smile falters.
Denver studies me. “I don’t need to go just yet,” he says. “You want a coffee?”
