“Morning,” he says, voice warm and low. He pulls the towel loose and scrubs it over his head and face.
Oh my. I sit here in complete silence as he casually dresses. Boxer briefs. Jeans. Gray thermal. Black socks. He looks … relaxed. Like this is just an ordinary morning for him.
Before I can react, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my mouth.
I freeze.
Not because I don’t want to kiss him, but because the second his lips touch mine, everything comes rushing back.
His hands.
His mouth.
The way he said my name and called me beautiful.
Heat flares across my skin. My stomach flips again, this time for a very different reason. I stay perfectly still, eyes wide, heart pounding, as he pulls back with a small smile, like he doesn’t realize I’m having a full-blown panic attack.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I croak, which is a complete lie.
He glances at the clock. “I’ve gotta get to the ranch. Didn’t mean to sleep in so long.” He nods toward the window. “I forgot to set the alarm last night, and the sun was already coming up when I finally woke.”
My brain is still struggling to catch up. “It’s … it’s nine.”
“Yeah. You were out cold.” He smiles a little, like he finds that cute. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
I do not find it cute.
“I should be home,” I blurt. “Like, hours ago.”
He nods, completely calm. “I can take you. We’ll swing by your place on the way.”
The mental image of Waylon pulling up in front of the Storm ranch house, my sisters and cousins gawking from every window, my grandmother absolutely watching, but pretending not to—it plays in slow motion, like a black-and-white horror film.
I shake my head so fast that I get dizzy. “No. No, that’s okay. I’ll—I’ll get someone to pick me up.”
His eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t push. “You sure?”
“Yes. Very sure.”
“Okay.” He grabs his phone and keys off the chest of drawers. “Coffee is in the pot on the counter. Mugs in the cabinet above it. I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah,” I say, still barely breathing.
He gives me a quick wink, then heads out the door like this is the most normal thing in the world.
The door clicks shut behind him.
I sit there for a second, staring at the wood grain on the doorframe, trying to get my heart to slow down. My skin still feels warm where he touched me. The room still smells like his soap.
Okay. Get it together, Shelby.
I slide out of bed and pad down the hall to the living room. My dress, hat, and boots are laid out neatly on the small table beside the front door. My phone is right there too.
He must have fetched them for me.
I pick it up.
