We both pause there, and I gaze into his whiskey brown eyes for a hair too long. They draw you in. “I’ll just go finish unpacking.”
"If there’s anything you need, you know where to find me." He continues to gaze at me as if he’s got all the time in the world and intends to spend it right there.
"Goodnight, Beck."
"Goodnight, Ms. Dempsey."
I shake my head. "Just call me Laurel," I reply, as I walk off.
“Will do, Laurel,” he says, and hearing him say my name in that husky drawl makes me think I’ve made a huge mistake.
I shut the guest room door behind me, hoping that’ll keep him out of mind.
But no such luck.
CHAPTER 3
BECK
Ididn’t sleep worth a damn.
I spent half the night tossing and turning, listening to the house settle, and hoping to hearherdown the hall.
Not in a creepy way.
Just the way you're aware of a fault line you didn't know ran under your house until the dishes start rattling.
When I see the sun, I give up and hobble out to the kitchen, because lying in bed thinking about Laurel is a fool's errand.
I get the coffee going, grinding the beans for the French press since Hollywood spoiled me for anything less.
I'm halfway through telling myself today's gonna be fine, that I’ll be a pleasant boss who won’t flirt with his gorgeous employee…when she walks in.
And I forget everything.
She's in a thin robe—cream-colored and belted in a hasty knot at her waist—over a gray tank top, and a pair of fuzzy slippers that have seen better days. Her hair's shoved up in a knot already losing the battle.
She’s definitely not a morning person.
And it’s fucking adorable.
"Mornin'," I say, just to check if she’s sleepwalking.
“Oh, morning.” She squints at me. "Is there coffee?" Her voice is deliciously rough.
I gesture to the press on the counter.
She turns to find it. “Thank god,” she mutters, and grabs the mug I left for her there.
She pours, sips, makes a small purr that has my cock taking notice in my sweat pants.
I adjust just before she turns around with the mug cradled in both hands.
She huffs. "You look like you slept worse than I did."
I push off the counter, wincing when I forget the ankle for half a second. "Probably."
She blows on her coffee. Her eyes are sleepy and a little bit greener in this light, and there's a pillow crease on her cheek that I’d love to press my lips to. "You get any sleep at all?"
