The firm abs beneath his shirt that absorbed the impact of my body running into his.
Those strong arms that held me for a too-short moment that will keep me embarrassingly toasty for the rest of the night.
His throat works as he swallows, and I think of a way to move past that awkward moment, spitting out the first thing I think of.
“Can I use your shower?”
His eyes flutter shut, jaw clenching with a tic for the briefest second before he collects himself. “Of course, darlin’. Right this way.”
He gets me set up with everything I might need, my bag with my clothes and toiletries, and I take my time getting ready for bed. Relishing in the unlimited hot water his house has, that I can stand under the spray that could melt flesh for a quarter of an hour, maybe even longer if I dared. Trying not to inhale the steam and wonder if I can smell him in it. His body wash on the small, built-in bench, tempts me to pick it up and take a whiff. But I’m not a total creeper psycho, whatever my DNA, and I pass on the chance.
Instead, I force myself to shut the water off before he asks if I’m drowning myself, like a good little house guest, dry myself off, do my nighttime routine and ready myself for bed.
Does that include an extra thorough cleaning of all my most personal areas? Some shaving? Possibly, what are you, a journalist?
When I emerge back into the hallway I don’t see Weston, so I let myself into the bedroom and sort out my belongings, putting away toiletries I don’t need anymore.
I would simply refuse to sleep in here, but we had a pretty thorough back-and-forth about it on the way here, and I can tell I’m not going to change his mind on the matter. The man is a Southern gentleman to his own detriment. He outright refuses to sleep in the bed while I’m relegated to the sofa. But I’m not about to let him sleep on the couch and let that thing round the bases with him while I have his bed all to myself.
That would certainly throw the universe out of balance yet again, and I’m not about it.
I didn’tplanon wearing a small pair of panties—or a thin, stretchy bralette that traces every secret my chest holds—to bed out of any scheme to seduce him or ruin our plan when we’re not even twenty-four hours away from victory. I didn’t even know I’d be staying in his bed when I packed my bag.
And maybe I’m not from the South, but you know, in the Midwest, we tend to be decent people, too, and I just can’t let this literal golden retriever of a man throw his back out on that janky couch and ruin my chances of a real, live rodeo experience tomorrow night.
So really, I’m being selfish, if you wanna look at it that way.
He can do this as a favor tome. I’m looking out for my own interests with this move. He doesn’t have to trade in his gentleman card by taking me up on this offer, because there’s nothing uncouth about it on his part. What would be rude is turning me down.
“Boy Scout, I hope you know I’m not going to bed without you,” I call loud enough to travel down the hall to wherever he’s hiding out.
“Then I guess you’re in for a long night,” he drawls from the doorway, and I try not to startle at his sudden appearance. His minty fresh breath and that smell that’s uniquely him—the one that’s come to make my knees buckle at the hint of the woody fragrance with a strong masculine undertone—reach me from several feet away and I steel myself.
Weston looks like he’s trying to keep his balance when he spots me. Spies what I’m wearing. His grip tightens on the doorjamb, knuckles turning white as his eyes slowly move their way down my body, skimming over the clear outline of my breasts, my flat stomach, my thighs and the small triangle of nude material in between them. It might as well be his tongue for the way my body reacts to it.
“I won’t complain about a long night,” I tell him with a heavy-lidded look that betrays my impatience. “Just don’t make it a lonely night.”
“Darlin’, you’ll be the death of me. That face. Those tits. That body. I won’t survive a night in a bed with you where I can’t touch you.”
“Then touch me,” I offer.
“So eager, angel, when the wait is only going to make it that much sweeter.”
I let out a loud sigh and turn my back on him, walking to the bed and pulling back the covers. If he watches my ass as I walk away, that’s his prerogative. His scent overwhelms me as the sheets fold back, that blend of maybe cedar, and something else I can’t place, it invades my senses. It melts my insides, and I’m lucky my knees don’t give out. To be wrapped in his scent, the fabric that’s touched every inch of him, I hope it’s enough to hold me over for one last sleep.
When I climb in the bed, perch myself up on some pillows and pull the covers up to my stomach, I find Weston watching with a fixated stare that gives away just how he feels about waiting one more damn night.
He looks like the last tether on his restraint is about to snap.
Good. Mine snapped a week ago. It’s time for his to catch up.
I pat the empty side of the bed on my left and wait expectantly.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth and turns his head to one side.
“You’re really testing my resolve here, darlin’.”
“I can keep my hands to myself if you can.” I think.
