But Dean didn’t smile at my joke. If anything, his expression became surprisingly serious. The air between us thickened—became charged with something I wasn’t quite ready to name.
Finally, he reached for the leash hanging by the door and let out a low whistle. “George, come. Let’s go outside.”
George didn’t budge. Instead, he turned in the opposite direction and planted himself firmly on my feet, the solid weight of him making it clear he wasn’t moving.
“I’m serious, George.” Dean pointed to the floor by his boots. “I have an early meeting tomorrow, and I don’t want you waking me up in the middle of the night because you have to go out.”
George looked up at me, his eyes large and puppy-like, then let out a small, pathetic whimper before glancing over his shoulder, as though asking me if he really needed to listen.
“It’s probably a good idea, George,” I murmured to him, giving his head one final scratch.
With an exaggerated huff, he stood, stomped toward Dean, then scratched the door once.
Dean clipped the leash to his collar, muttering something low under his breath, then turned back to me. “We’ll be right back,” he said, his eyes catching mine for a beat before he stepped outside. And just before the door latched, I heard him whisper to his dog, “Seriously, dude? Are you trying to make me look bad?”
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, but it escaped anyway, the sound bubbling up in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager—light, unguarded, annoyingly giddy. For a moment, I just stood there, perfectly still, listening, but when the only sound that came was the chirp of crickets, I sank into the nearest chair and took great pleasure in tugging off my boots.
But then my gaze landed on the living room, and the tiny couch piled high with mismatched pillows and a throw blanket.
My stomach twisted. Guilt pressed in around me, but I tried to ignore it. I grabbed my overnight bag and headed for the bathroom.
I locked the door behind me, then braced my hands on the sink, and let out a slow breath.
I had rules for a reason.
Boundaries that kept lines from blurring.
I splashed cold water on my face and studied my reflection. “You don’t sleep with clients,” I muttered. “That includes sleeping in the same bed.”
I pulled my nightshirt from my bag—a soft, oversized tee that fell to mid-thigh.
I slipped it over my head, yanked a brush through my hair, then opened the door…
I must have been gone longer than I intended, because when I stepped into the room again, Dean was already back––stretched out on the couch, shirtless, wearing only a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. One arm tucked behind his head—George curled into the crook of his knees. They looked ridiculous—like a magazine ad forBachelor Life: Rural Edition.
His gaze flicked to me, beginning at my legs, then traveling up to my face. He took a slow breath, like he suddenly didn’t have enough oxygen.
I felt it in my own lungs––and when he exhaled, I did too.
Goosebumps prickled up my arms, and I moved across the room quicker than I meant to. I hopped into bed, then tugged the covers up to my neck in a feeble attempt to shield myself from whateverthatwas.
“Goodnight, Dean,” I said, reaching for the lamp and flicking it off.
“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice low and a little rough.
I turned onto my side, willing my focus toward anything other the half-naked man stretched out on the couch behind me.
Which proved to takemuchmore willpower than it should have.
Eighteen
A wet,snuffling nose pressed against my cheek.
I jolted awake—so hard I nearly rolled right off the bed. My heart was hammering when my brain finally caught up with my surroundings.
I blinked. Then George came into focus.
The giant dog stood beside the mattress, his tail wagging with a slow, lazy thump, tongue lolling like he’d just accomplished a great personal victory.
