I move to the opposite side of the bed and toe off my boots and socks. My jacket comes off next.
I look down at my jeans and long-sleeved Henley. I stand there, debating whether I should stay in all my clothes or how many layers I should take off.
“Just strip down to your underwear and get in bed. I’m not going to jump your bones,” she mumbles into the pillow, still facing away from me.
Fuck it.
I peel everything off until I’m just in my boxer briefs. Her sheets feel like heaven as I slide beneath them. She feels even better when I snuggle in behind her.
She lets out a sigh of contentment when I wrap my arm around her, pulling her back flush against my chest.
“Better?” I ask.
Her voice is almost dreamy when she whispers, “Better.”
I press a kiss to her neck. “Go to sleep, Abby. I’m not going anywhere.”
She laces her fingers through mine. “Good night, Wyatt.”
It takes hardly any time at all for her breathing to even out as she falls into slumber. I don’t know if I am going to be able to sleep myself.
I have this damn-near perfect woman in my arms who I can’t keep as my own, so I’m going to savor this feeling for as long as I can.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Abby
The worldaround me slowly starts to filter back in as I cross the line between dreamland and reality. An utter sense of peace surrounds me.
I haven’t felt this at ease in… well, maybe ever.
You’d think I would be alarmed by the presence of someone else in my bed, given the fact that there is rarely anyone else here with me.
Waking up and finding Wyatt sleeping soundly beside me is having the opposite effect. I lay on my side, facing him.
Fragments of the early morning light cast shadows across his face. I take this moment to just stare at him. He really is beautiful in a slightly rugged kind of way.
The comforter is pulled down just enough, giving me a view of his toned chest. My mouth waters with the need to lick across his perfect skin.
I divert my eyes to his arms and the ink covering them to try to keep my brain firmly in the friend category. Both of his arms are practically covered in tattoos.
There doesn’t seem to be any theme to them. They’re a random assortment of colored and black ink that somehow work with their randomness.
It perfectly embodies the Wyatt that I’ve come to know. He’s a mix of funny and wild on the outside, but there’s a deeper soul beneath all of it.
He lets out a sleepy groan, bringing a hand up to his face. One of his gold-flecked eyes peeks out at me through his fingers.
“Morning,” I say with a small smile.
“Isn’t it usually the guy who’s staring at the girl like a stalker while she’s sleeping in the movies?”
His voice is gravelly with sleep. He runs his hand over the stubble that now peppers his jaw. It makes him even sexier.
“I don’t believe in stereotypes. Women can be stalkers, too. Anything you put your mind to and all that.”
He starts laughing, and I quickly follow suit. He rolls onto his side. The longer our eyes stay locked together, the more the laughter dissipates.
“Morning,” I say again.
