In the bathroom, I contemplate a bath for a few minutes before deciding I’m too tired and opt for a quick shower after all. Twentyminutes later, I’m dry and moisturizing when I remember.
Oh no.
Snagging the last hotel robe, I wrap myself in it and secure the belt before opening the bathroom door to find Dean sitting on the side of the bed, frowning at his phone. While I was in the shower, someone came in and cleared the buffet and dinner dishes, leaving the area spotless. “Mateo said you have a late breakfast on the schedule and to let him know if you changed your mind…” When all I do is stand here and stare, he looks up at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” Nodding my head, I feel my guts twist a little before I give up and shake it. “No. I mean—nothing’swrongbut…”
Frowning, Dean sighs. “I might not be agentleman, Mills but I’m not a complete creep either, so if this is about sharing a bed, then?—”
“No. That’s—” Shaking my head again, eyes so wide I can feel them bouncing around in my skull, I take a step forward. “I don’t have anything… appropriate to wear to bed.”
He looks at me like he has no clue what I’m saying. “Appropriate?”
“Actually…” Blanching slightly, I pull the lapels of my robe closer together over my chest. “I don’t have anything to wear… to sleep in.” Swallowing hard, I look away from him, slightly mortified. “I did—I mean, I packed mostly lingerie because it was supposed to be my honeymoon but then when I found out about Allister and Paige, I went a little crazy and I spent yesterday afternoon shopping for new clothes for a trip IthoughtI was going on by myself. All I packed besides undergarments were bikinis and cocktail dresses for dinner out if I wanted to…” Shaking my head, I force myself to look at him. “I didn’t think appropriate sleepwear would be necessary.” Taking adeep breath, I let it out slowly. “Actually, I didn’t think sleepwear would be necessary at all—appropriate or otherwise.”
Dean frowns up at me like he’s having a hard time piecing together what I’m saying. After a few seconds, he seems to figure it out because his expression goes from puzzled to slightly amused. “Were you gonna sleep naked?”
Feeling an ugly, red flush bloom across my chest, I fight the urge to look away from him because I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman and if I can’t look at a man while he says the wordnakedwithout passing out, then Allister is right and there’s absolutely no hope for me, whatsoever.
“I was, yes—” Bobbing my head, I run my tongue across my lips because my mouth is suddenly so dry I feel like I’ve been swallowing cotton. “because I was supposed to be here,alone.” The decision was an impulsive one, made after too much wine and self-pity to be considered healthy. “Go ahead and say it,” I gripe at him. “Tell me how sad and pathetic you think I am, or maybe that?—”
“I think you’re a lot of things, Mills,” he tells me in a firm, matter-of-fact tone. “but sad and pathetic don’t make the list.” Setting his phone on the bed, he stands to make his way toward me. Stopping in front of me, close enough to touch, he gives me one of those maddening smirks of his. “Besides, that would be against the rules.” Hooking his hands into the hem of the shirt he’s wearing, he lifts it, dragging it up, over his head. Shirtless, he offers it to me. “Here you go—it’s choking the shit out of me, anyway.”
My first instinct is to refuse. Tell him to put his shirt back on because sleeping next to him is going to be hard enough. There’s no way I can sleep next to ashirtlessDean Mercer. Not if I actually want to sleep. He must see the refusal, brewing on my face because he cocks his head slightly to the side, hisexpression hardening slightly. “I’m starting to feelinsultedhere, Matador.”
Shit.
“Thank you,” I say, snagging the offered shirt from his grip before backing myself into the bathroom. Shutting the door, I sit on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, shirt in my lap while I listen to him move around the room on the other side of the wall of frosted glass behind me.
I saw him naked.
Purely by accident—I just happened to look up from my dinner and catch a glimpse of him while he was changing into the clothes I’d left for him. I’ll be the first to admit that my experience with the male body is severely and almost embarrassingly limited, but I know perfection when I see it—and naked Dean Mercer is exactly that.
Perfection.
Get it together, Millie. It’s either sleep in the bathtub or put the shirt on and go to bed. There were about a hundred shops in the hotel lobby. You can buy something appropriate in the morning.
Standing, I take off the robe and toss it over the side of the tub before dropping the T-shirt Dean gave me over my head, the hem of it falling to mid-thigh. Reasoning that it offers more coverage than the dress I wore to dinner Friday night, I tell myself it’s fine. This is fine. Lifting the soft cotton of it to my nose, I take a deep breath and feel my stomach swan dive toward my feet.
Not fine.
Definitely not fine.
He had it on for less than an hour. How does it already smell like him?
Get it together, Millie.
I turn off the bathroom light and open the door before I lose my nerve.
It’s dark, the only light coming from the moon, through the huge, floor-to-ceiling sliders that open out on to the deck. Seeing the shape of Dean, lying in bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, I make my way toward it to slip beneath the sheets. Following suit, I lie on my back and stare at the same ceiling while willing myself to stay calm.
Quit acting like a shriveled-up spinster, Millie. You shared a bed with Allister for over a year. This is nothing new. You’re not?—
From the corner of my eye, I catch movement. Turning my head on my pillow, I catch it again. Movement. Under the covers. Mouth falling open, I watch while Dean’s hand moves, the blanket we’re sharing shifting around his hips. His bicep flexing and contracting with each?—
Oh my god.
Sitting up, I lunge for the bedside lamp, nearly knocking it off the nightstand in my hurry to turn it on.
