“Resistance is futile.”
Sophie laughed in spite of her reluctance. Then she sobered, the butterflies in her gut intensifying. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Everything. Visiting me in the hospital, putting yourself on the line to tell me what you weren’t supposed to tell me — which, by the way, the fire chief and the investigator did visit me this morning and confirmed that it was arson — taking me home, cooking me dinner—”
“So dinner’s a yes then.” He shot a shit-eating grin her way, and even when he was being smug, her heartbeat still did a little double-time beat just from how good-looking he was.
“Just dinner,” she said. “It’s not a date.”
“Not a date.” Nate nodded.
Those were the words she needed to hear, and yet they brought her no comfort.
7
It was a lucky thing this wasn’t a date, Sophie thought hazily as she sprang out of bed from a sound sleep. Her head spun, so she leaned against the wall momentarily, eyes closed.
The knocking came again, and she was pretty sure the doorbell had rung a couple of times before her brain had engaged and she’d realized it must be Nate, the unrelenting hero.
“Be right there,” she hollered, keeping a hand on the hallway wall as she made her way to the main entry, wondering how long her concussion would keep her off-balance.
She looked through the peephole, then opened the door, focusing only on getting there before he gave up on her — not on how she looked. That god-awful truth hit her as soon as she and Nate stood face-to-face and his gaze darted from hers down to her bare toes and back up, over her baggy, unflattering, old sleep shirt and boxers.
“Hello, sleepyhead,” he said.
Sophie groaned and rubbed a hand over her face before stepping back to let him in. It was all she could do not to dart back out of sight to her room to hide — not just because of her appearance but because the look on his face, the smile … it was too intimate.
She straightened instead, doing a mental inventory of where her shirt ended (just below the hem of her boxers) and how see-through it was (enough — way more than enough). Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered. “I’m going to get dressed. Help yourself to the kitchen,” she added as the large paper grocery bag in his arms registered. “I’ll be five minutes.”
“Take your time. Relax.”
Easier said than done, thanks to the sparkle of interest in his eyes and the way his gaze kept sinking to her too-thin shirt and her bare legs. She attempted an unbothered smile. Likely failed.
“I’ve got dinner,” he said. “You’re not allowed to help.”
“I meant to wake up hours ago.” She said it to his back as he went into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter.
“You needed to sleep, Sophie. Operation Recovery.” He busied himself unloading the bag, and the unassuming smile he aimed her way sent that same warm sensation he’d given her in the hospital deep into her chest. It wasn’t rational. He was still almost a stranger. But she clung to it anyway and admitted to herself she was a little bit glad he was here.
When she reemerged, dressed in leggings and an oversized zip-up hoodie, hair combed, mortification from the way it’d looked when she’d opened the door mostly gone, she found Nate outside on her sixth-floor balcony.
The sliding glass door was closed, giving her a moment to take in the delicious sight of him from the back, leaning against the railing, looking out at the gulf. There was enough separation between them, or maybe her guard was just down enough, that she saw him more objectively, instead of as a threat to her equilibrium. Just a beautiful, strong, sexy man with a killer ass. Like an action-movie lead, all virile and dripping with testosterone.
In her condo.
If she were more adventurous — okay, more trusting and open — she’d probably lure him down the hall to her bed and have the night of her life. But that wasn’t the way she was or had ever been.
It occurred to her maybe she’d been living her life the wrong way.
Shaking her head against that uneasy thought, she snapped into action and opened the door. When she stepped outside, the wind gusted through her hair. It was chilly but refreshing. Fresh. Alive. The complete opposite of the sterile, still hospital air.
Sophie walked past the two mint-condition teak lounge chairs with their fluffy, never-used cushions to sidle up to the railing right next to Nate. Her eyes were drawn to the drama of the waves crashing wildly on this windy, cloudy day. Everything was varying shades of gray — the sky, the waves, the beach — and yet it was full of life and action and possibility somehow. Something inside of her sparked to life.
Nate draped his arm across her back, his hand settling on her opposite hip and pulling her into his side. And she let him. Relished the comfort, the heat of his body.
“Great balcony,” he said. “Do you use it much?”
