I looked a frightening mess in the bathroom.
My hair was flat from the pillow, and a faint red mark had developed dead center of my forehead. It was a lovely addition to the yellowish bruise still ringing my neck. There were more bruises on my body, but if he had noticed them last night, he’d said nothing.
I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and left the bathroom looking like I’d just gone ten rounds and lost.
Not wanting to snoop through the house, I evaluated what I could to learn about the man who had brought me here. But there weren’t any pictures. The house had a generic feel to it, like it was a house but not a home. The washing machine chimed softly, and I transferred the clothes to the dryer.
There was nothing left to do now but return to Jason.
I filled a glass with water and ice, grabbed the bottle of Advil, and walked back to the bedroom, the ice tinkling in the glass.
He was still asleep, lying face down in the center of the bed when I set the glass on his side of the nightstand. The huge purple knot just left of his spine reminded me that he’d taken a bullet trying to protect me.
This forced me to consider my options. I could return to the living room and stare vacantly into the darkness with my mind noisy... or climb back into bed with him.
I slipped under the duvet as silently as I traveled inrelevé, but it was wasted. He rose on bent arms and turned to me witha sleepy gaze, giving me a disoriented look. God, he was so good looking, it wasn’t fair.
When his eyes focused on me, it was clear he was thinking about last night, and his face changed to the unreadable expression I was beginning to dislike.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Five thirty.” There had been a battery-operated clock on one of the living room walls. “How’s your back?”
“It’s been better.”
I gestured to the water and bottle on the nightstand. He thanked me and set about taking them while I watched silently. I had no idea what to say. It had been a bad idea to get back in bed with the naked man whose touch could shut my brain off.
I wanted to ask him what would happen now but couldn’t get up the nerve.
Where I was dressed and filled with uncertainty, the naked man seemed completely sure and comfortable. He turned on his side toward me, the duvet and sheet shifting to sit low on his waist.
The urge to run a hand along his defined chest and continue down below the sheet was powerfully strong, but I tore my focus away to gaze up at the ceiling.
“How are you? Sore?” he questioned.
“From... last night?” I was stunned he would bring it up, that he was so cavalier.
“No.” His face went blank. “I meant from everything else.” My response had caught him off guard, leaving him with no choice but to follow up. His voice was hushed and uneasy. “Are you sore from that?”
“No. And no.”
He nodded but looked unclear what to do with that information.
Good lord. Did I have some sort of superpower for making things weird between us? I avoided his gaze, even as I sensed it was on me. Wasn’t I the one who’d come back to bed, the worst possible place to be if I wanted to avoid him?
“Someone took my clothes,” he remarked, matter-of-fact.
“They’re in the dryer.”
He threw the duvet off, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and stood. My head turned and then snapped back to the ceiling.Yep, still naked.He pivoted to face me, to give me a better view.
“You’re shy now?”
Was he . . . teasing me?
“No.”
To prove it, I sat up, faced him, and let my gaze slide down every delicious inch of his toned body. He moved swiftly, rounding the bed, and stalked toward me, causing me to go short of breath.
