I disagree, but it’s my first day here, so I don’t argue with him.
By day’s end, I’ve consumed four movies—two rom-coms, a mystery, and one mindless action flick. DiAngelo makes anappearance every now and then but primarily keeps to his office. After her scolding, Bonny stays with him.
I feel compelled to win her over for some unknown reason. I want to prove to D that his sweet Rottie can be a protectoranda companion, so she gets the love she deserves. Maybe I’m just selfish, and it serves as a good distraction. Whatever the motive, I commit to my mission.
I offer to make dinner, but DiAngelo already has a meal planned. We eat in companionable silence, and I return to the TV until finally getting the courage to go to bed. DiAngelo makes sure I have everything I need, and while I close the door to get ready for bed, he insists the door remain open at night. I have no problem with that.
After a long, hot shower, I put on a baggy T-shirt and crawl beneath the covers of his bed.
I was right.
It smells like him. Like leather and oak and warm woolen blankets that lock out the cold.
Between the soft cotton against my skin and the masculine scent warming my insides, I’m achingly aroused in record time. I hadn’t considered that possibility. Maybe it was naive. Maybe my subconscious knew what it was doing all along, but either way, the tiniest movement of my shirt is exquisite torture for my sensitive nipples.
This feels wrong on so many levels.
His home is his sanctuary, and he’s sharing it with me so that I’ll be safe, and I’m over here acting like a pervert. What would I think if I knew he jacked off in my bed because he got off on my scent?
That was a bad choice of imagery. Thanks to a vivid imagination, my center is now throbbing so intensely that my spine is flexing and arching to combat the sensation.
I just need a littlerelief.
My mind takes the inopportune moment to picture DiAngelo’s strong hands wrapped around the snake. His bravery. His raw strength.
Yeah, this isn’t helping at all.
I don’t know why him killing something has me so hot, except it makes me think of his large hand wrapped tight around something else thick and hard. Suddenly, my hand is slipping lower toward the apex of my thighs, stunning me.
Am I actually considering this … in his bed? On a day when I could have been killed?
What a great reminder to live life to its fullest.
The door is open, I point out to the deranged hussy who’s taken over my thoughts. I can’t touch myself with the door wide open, and he was adamant about that rule. I don’t want to cross him, and besides, he’d probably hear if I closed it. He’s likely got preternatural hearing to go with his super sense of smell.
I don’t care how good his ears are. There’s no way he can hear my fingers sliding against my clit.
True. And I can be very,veryquiet when needed.
Maybe just a little touch. Something to help soothe the ache…
CHAPTER 17
DIANGELO
Present
The lights go outin my bedroom, but I’m still wide awake. It’s hard to sleep after what happened today. I didn’t want to scare Terina more than necessary, but that snake was a serious message. There’s no telling what the Russians will do if they’re hell-bent on revenge. Her life is in grave danger.
I’m relieved she came to my place willingly. I feel better with her here. That fact alone should help me sleep, but I can tell that’s not happening anytime soon. Especially not when an insidious thought slithers its way into my consciousness and takes root.
I wonder if Terina chose to sleep on my side of the bed.
It’s not hard to tell which side I prefer. What would it mean if she chose the same side? That she sleeps on that side in her own bed? That she isn’t bothered by sheets slept in by someone else? Or maybe sleeping near my scent makes her feel safe.
Maybe I have my head up my ass and need to stop thinking about things that don’t matter.
What is wrong with me? Am I seriously daydreaming about Renzo’s little sister? She’s ten damn years younger than me … and she’s hissister. Have I lost my goddamn mind? Her life is at risk, and I’m overthinking her sleeping preferences. That’s exactly why allowing emotions into the mix is a horrible idea. I need to be focused. Practical.
