As if teasing me, he forces his steps down hard as he crosses toward me, watching over my shoulder. When Lily is all swaddled up and cozy, I transfer her to her crib, her tiny body looking even smaller in the large space. Her eyes remain open, blinking up at her dad as he watches over her. I give them a moment and set up the monitor, ensuring the camera feed and audio are all live, and then switch on the white noise.
“Sleep tight, Lily flower,” Dean whispers as I make my way to the door, and then he follows, not closing it fully. We both wait on the other side, listening to the tiny whimpers as she realizeswe’ve left, but it doesn’t last, she’s a great sleeper, and within a few minutes, it goes quiet.
“Come on,” Dean whispers, a hand landing on the base of my spine as he ushers me to the next room and away from the stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“My room,” He frowns.
“Why?”
One dark smudge of a brow quirks before his eyes dip back down to the wet patches that are in that horrible, warm stage, making it feel like I’m sweaty, my skin damp beneath.
“Fine,” I concede and let him guide me inside.
His bedroom is exactly how I imagined it would be. Dark. Brooding. Lacking any kind of light or color. Deep slate gray, almost black, paint covers all the walls, and wood paneling is behind the headboard. There are a few gold accents, like the wall lamps on either side of the bed and the legs on the chaise lounge in front of the window, but other than those, it’s a mix of black, white, and gray. There’s a single piece of artwork on the wall, an abstract piece that has some splashes of red in it, and it’s clean, not a speck of dirt or dust to be seen. His bed is made, the corners tight and tucked, and there’s two other doors inside, separate from the main entry. He heads to the one on the left, closest to the window, and reaches inside to turn on the light, illuminating a walk-in closet. I don’t follow but I can see enough to see that his wardrobe is as tidy as the rest of the house, every item of clothing either hung on a pole along the wall or folded neatly in the cubed shelving that goes from floor to ceiling.
I stand in the middle of the room, the carpet plush beneath my feet, and wait while I hear him rummage around and then comeback out with a pair of flannel pajama pants and a large, white T-shirt.
“I’ll show you to the guest room.” His eyes linger on my face as I take the items of clothing from him, and then they drop to my lips. I fight the urge to wet them, my throat working on a swallow. Eventually, he clears his throat and throws out his arm, offering for me to exit first. In the hall, he steps to the side and opens the door beside his.
The guest room is as dark as his, but instead of gold accents, this one has silver.
“It doesn’t have a bathroom,” He hangs back in the hall, “But I rarely use the main bathroom, so it’s all yours while you’re here.”
I nod just as the sound of the buzzer for the door wails through the house.
“Who the fuck is that?” Dean snaps out suddenly.
“Shit, sorry! I ordered us pizza; I’ll go grab it!”
“No,” He reaches for the handle, “Get changed, I’ll get it sorted.”
He doesn’t wait for me to agree as the door clicks closed, and he leaves me in the room alone. If I’m correct, his headboard is against the same wall as the bed in here. He’ll be sleeping only a thin wall away. I wait for the discomfort to hit, for the anxiety of the situation to take out my knees, but it never comes.
Quickly stripping out of my clothes, I place them draped over the arm of the chair to give them a chance to dry, and then slip my legs into the flannel pants. They’re soft, brushed cotton, making them glide up my legs and I tighten them with the laces at the waist but there isn’t much I can do about the length and slip the t-shirt over my head, discarding my bra, then I run my fingers through the messy lengths of my hair. I know it’s frizzy as allhell, it’s been splashed with water, pulled and tangled, and since I have nothing with me, my fingers will have to do.
I have no idea if I’m remotely presentable when I finally leave the bedroom, I could check but I don’t want to leave Dean waiting for the food, so I hurry down, finding him perched on a stool at the counter, the four pizza boxes open in front of him and two empty glasses in the middle. He freezes when he sees me, his lips parting a little as his eyes drag down the length of me, and I tug on the hem of my shirt nervously.
“Whiskey, wine, or water?” He offers, snapping out of whatever that was, and gets up from the stool.
Chapter Nineteen
She’s not wearing a fucking bra.
The shirt is huge on her, but there’s no hiding the way it forms to her chest, her nipples pressing against the material. How pathetic does it make me to be fucking jealous of a damn T-shirt?
It’s taking everything I have not to look. I try really hard not to bethatguy, but fuck, I want to look. Torture would be easier to manage.
“You gonna eat that?” There’s an amused lilt to her voice, and it draws me out of the staring match I was having with the slice of pepperoni in my hand.
Fuck.
Shaking my head, I take a bite, but I have no appetite and haven’t all day.
“I ordered too much,” Sloane stares at the two untouched pizzas, the other two barely missing any slices either.
“Maybe a little,” I agree.
