I try to untangle my limbs from his when my calf brushes against something hard. Curious asto what it is, I do it again. A rumble from his chest makes me freeze because I realize that just might be his…
“If you have no plans to finish what you start, Kaeli, I suggest you stop moving.” His arms flex around me as a squeal leaves my mouth. God, why does my name sound so sexy when he says it?
I stay rooted to my spot, inhaling his scent and soaking in the warmth his huge figure exudes. God! He smells so good. I nuzzle in his neck and take a deep breath, hoping to trap the woodsy scent with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg.
“Did you…Did you just sniff me?” he asks incredulously, pulling back to look at me, bewilderment coating his features. My face flushes a deep red as my body begins to heat up. This might just be the most embarrassing moment of my life.
I’m saved from answering and lying by the incessant ringing of a phone. Grasping my opportunity, I jump out of bed with a speed that should be inhumane and would probably rival a vampire’s.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, I dismiss my phone’s alarm. A stinging headache bangs on thewalls of my head. Damn, it hurts.
I hunch over and groan in pain, pinching the bridge of my nose as my eyes squeeze shut. God! That hurts like a motherfucker. What the fuck was I thinking, getting blacked out drunk alone? I need some aspirin and, preferably, a time machine so that my choices don’t land me in Ezra’s bed. Even if his chest is warm and makes me wanna sleep in.
Opening my eyes, I spy a glass of water and some aspirin on the bedside table. He must’ve put them here, right? Deciding now’s not the best time to use my brain, I grab the glass and swallow the tablet.
Giving myself a few minutes to let it start working, I let a wave of regret wash over me. At least, I’m still in my clothes, so something happening between us is off the list.
I twist in bed to look at him as he now sits with his back against the headboard, still in his boxers and with a prominent bulge. My eyes widen comically, and I avert them to his face, finding the asshole smirking at me.
Not letting being caught ogling his certain clothed parts deter me, I glare at him, “Why am I here?”
He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’m sorry, would you rather have slept on the sidewalk or gone home with that asshole trying to invade your personal space without consent?” The light bounces off his chiseled abs, and I clench my fist, afraid that I might just lunge at him to explore his body.
Fuck, he’s right. I hate it when he’s right.
At the mention of that douchebag, last night slams against my head like a freight train, and I clutch my head in pain. Hangover is abitch. I’m never drinking this much again.
Thank God that it’s a weekend. Enough time to cure the worst hangover ever and forget that this ever happened. My eyes flick back to him. “If you tell anyone about this, then–”
He gets out of bed and saunters toward me, effectively cutting me off. He closes the distance between us with each step, and I stand, walking backward until there’s nowhere to go.
He leans in, his hand on the wall beside me, and he rasps, “Then what?” My breath hitches the moment his tongue darts out to lick the shell of my ear. It’s a wonder that I’m still standing because all I want is to melt right here on the ground.
“What will you do, Feather?” he repeats. The anger rushes back in at that name again.
I glare at him, “Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll call you whatever the hell I want. Feather,” he says, only to annoy me.
Furious with myself for being affected by anything he does, I push him away, at least try to. “Fuck you,” I spit. The second my palms touch his chest, I know it was a bad idea because he’s a hundred percent hard muscle. Not an ounce of fat lining his impressive body.
Image of his naked body on top of mine flashes through my mind, and I know I’m losing it if I’m imagining something so horrendous.
All the playfulness and amusement vanish from his face and are replaced with his signature scowl. For a second, I miss his teasing side, but then I think better of it.
He swivels back and paces the length of his bedroom floor a couple of times, reining his temper in as his hand glides through his messy bed hair.
God knows why I don’t just leave and goad him instead. “And next time you see me somewhere outside of work, turn back and walk the other direction.”
He instantly turns to face me, his jaw clenching. Within the next second, he’s hovering over me, making me tilt my head to look up at him.
God, without my heels, our height difference is even more prominent as his six-foot-three form dwarfs me.
“You have nothing I haven’t seen before, Feather. Don’t flatter yourself,” he snarls, knowing exactly how his words will affect me.
They wash over me like rain drowning a cat. I’ve always been self-conscious about my body. Not because I don’t like the way I look, but because I’m not athletic or agile like my brother.
Ezra’s not wrong. There’s a long line of women dying to spend a night with him. And they all have legs that run for miles and a figure that could be covered with clothes in the kids’ section.
