She gave him a shrewd look. “Thought so.”
“Sugar, I don’t want to—”
Nelly cut him off. Her face set in lines of determination, she announced, “Let’s finish up dishes and then go to bed.”
“Nelly…”
One small, clawless finger poked him in the abdomen. “Hush. You’re gonna keep your undies on and you’ll stay on your side of the bed, got it?”
She’s letting me into her nest.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t see it that way. It didn’t matter that she probably had her blankets set up in ways that’d make his hair stand on end. It didn’t even matter that it sounded like there’d be no cuddling involved. She wanted him in hernest.
“Yes, ma’am,” he wheezed, stepping aside to give her some room at the sink. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Her lips twitched. “You’re welcome, cowboy.”
ChapterTen
I probably shouldn’t have had allthat wine.
Nelly wasn’t entirely sure what compelled her to invite Clark into her bed. He was trying to be a gentleman about her boundaries, and really, there was no harm in giving him a load of blankets so he could sleep semi-comfortably on the living room floor.
The problem was that she just didn’twanthim to sleep on the floor. It wasn’t because he’d been nothing but sweet to her since the moment he woke up. The truth was that she liked Clark.
She liked him alot.
Nelly wanted him in her bed because the idea of it made her stomach explode into a cloud of butterflies. She wanted him there because she didn’t feel lonely when he was near. She wanted him to sleep next to her because a brave, foolhardy part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind and just—
No, not yet.
She tried to ignore the way her skin prickled with awareness as Clark cautiously edged into the bedroom, his jeans, shirt, and socks carefully folded in his arms. He looked tense. His eyes were wide as they roved around the room, taking in all the knickknacks from her travels, the bolts of shimmery fabric she’d suspended from the ceiling, and the soft, twinkling lights she’d draped over her vanity.
He crept inside like he thought one wrong move would see him thrown out the door. His broad green shoulders were hunched, his steps whisper-quiet as he trod across her white faux fur rug.
Not wanting to make him more uncomfortable by staring at all that delicious green skin and his fascinating tattoos, Nelly turned her gaze away and climbed into the strange nook that came with the cottage.
It was like its own little room, but there was no space to stand or store things. The mattress rested flush against the walls and the only way in or out was by climbing over the foot of the bed. A curtain hung from the beam above it, but she’d tucked it up and out of her way when she moved in. It was awfully fussy to have to move it aside when she needed to get up in the middle of the night to pee.
Settling on the right side of the bed, Nelly stared up at the ceiling and tried to calm her racing heart.
It’ll just be sleep. There’s no reason to get all worked up.
Except that was impossible. She was going to spend the night in a tightly enclosed space withClark Wilson.The infuriatingly hot neighbor she’d lusted after since she moved in. The good ol’ country boy who apparently knew how to make her ache with just a smile. Clark Wilson, the prettiest orc ever born and her new mate.
I’m screwed.
There was the soft sound of fabric rustling before the overhead light was extinguished. When Clark appeared at the end of the bed, he was cast in a gauzy glow from her twinkling lights.
Her breath hitched.
It really, truly wasn’t fair that he looked like that. It was a crime to pair his body, built thick and hard after a lifetime of work on a ranch, with a look of such boyish wonder.
Nelly couldn’t do anything except stare as Clark planted his hands on the mattress, then a knee, and hoisted himself into the nest. The play of light on his shifting muscles was both extraordinary and a little terrifying. The glow flickered over the cords of his arms, the bunching and release of his abdominal muscles. It highlighted the thin black lines that ran from his collar bones down his stomach, around his back, up to his neck, and then back down the length of his arms.
Clan tattoos,she recalled, a little dazed, as he reached up to pull the curtain down from where she’d tucked it against the rod.
She’d replaced the old, thick paisley fabric that had come with the cottage with a wispy white organza. It still let a bit of the glow in when he sat on his haunches to arrange it carefully, leaving no gaps.
