“I got you a chocolate shake too,” he says hesitantly, giving the cup in his hand a light jostle. “But if you’re cold…”
“Don’t care. Today absolutely calls for chocolate.” I push to my feet so I can take the drink from him, sucking down agulp that makes my teeth sting. “This is amazing. You’re the best,” I say before brushing a kiss against his cheek, more touched than I want to admit that he remembered my weakness for chocolate milkshakes.
Wes’s eyes are soft and full of affection when he gazes down at me. “You are remarkably easy to please sometimes.”
I shrug. “I’m a simple girl.”
He laughs and reaches into his bag for the giant hoodie I reluctantly returned after my migraine episode. “You are one of the most complicated women I’ve ever met, Sloane.” He holds out the hoodie, satisfaction softening his expression when I take it. “And before you get in your head, Ilikecomplicated.” Leaning closer, he brushes his lips against my hair before turning back to his bag and grabbing his shower kit. “Put that on so you stop shivering.”
With a mock salute, I yank the soft cotton over my head and press my face into the fabric. His scent fills my nose, but it’s the tiny, satisfied smile I catch on his face as he heads for the bathroom that warms me the most.
A few seconds after he shuts the bathroom door, his groan is loud enough to be heard through the flimsy wood. I giggle to myself and continue to happily devour french fries. He’s barely in the shower for five minutes before the water shuts off and he emerges, still dripping, with a towel clutched at his waist.
“That shower”—Wes jabs a finger back toward the bathroom—“is designed for children. I nearly took my head off getting in.”
My laughter fades as I take him in. “You look just fine to me.”
It’s not the lighthearted quip I intend, but in my defense, a nearly naked Wes with water droplets sliding down his chest, highlighting delicious curves of muscle, is no small thing to ignore. His skin shimmers in the low lamplight, the birds scattered across his chest rippling with each movement as he takes a few steps closer.
“Fine, huh?”
Perched on the edge of the bed as I am, I have to tip my head back when he comes to a stop. “Yep. Perfectly fine.” One of my hands gets a mind of its own, rising to follow a water droplet down his chest and abdomen before disappearing into the towel.
Goosebumps erupt over his skin. Wes takes a step back with a choked cough, knuckles white where he’s clutching the towel. With a final smoldering look, he heads back into the bathroom. This time when he emerges, he’s dry and wearing black sweatpants.
Gray would have been better. No shirt, though. Not complaining.
Wes sinks down on the bed next to me, but rather than reaching for his food, he lets out a long sigh and tips his head over to lean on my shoulder. His hair is still damp and tickles my neck, his breath warm where it fans across my collarbones. “I wish we could do more to help,” he says quietly, his words nearly lost in my skin.
My heart squeezes. “Me too,” I reply, just as quietly. I lift one hand and gently drag my nails over his scalp. He presses closer, leaning into me, and of all the moods I’ve found him in, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Wes let his guard down like this. “It’s not like any of us want these storms to hit houses insteadof fields, and I know it’s better for us to help than to just outrun it, but…”
“Still feels like we’re intruding,” he says softly, the words half lost in my hair. Wes slips one arm around my waist and tugs me just a little closer when I let out a quiet “Yeah.”
We stay like that for a few more minutes before he pushes himself upright and grabs his own grilled cheese. I pull up the forecast while he eats, and we fall into the more familiar rhythm of evaluating our options for tomorrow.
There’s nothing familiar about the way my heart races when we finally get into bed together.
After everything today—our conversation in the field, his confession, the abrupt shift to disaster and destruction—my emotions are raw and close to the surface. Cracking my heart open even more and letting Wes have a closer look is far scarier than anything we faced today.
Sex will shift our relationship in a way there’s no coming back from. Unless of course he’s terrible—which I sincerely doubt—but the truth is, I have no idea what he’s like in bed.
But I sure could give a cat a run for its money with my current level of curiosity.
Clicking off the lamp only makes it worse. In the dark, every little sound is amplified. The rasp of starched sheets over skin. Every breath Wes takes. My own heartbeat pounding in my ears. The distant rumble of thunder. I turn onto my side, but then I can’t get comfortable, so I turn onto my other side. It doesn’t help.
Wes sighs, mutters something under his breath I don’t catch, and rolls toward me. I’m in his arms a breath later, his chestwarm against my back and his arm a solid weight across my waist. “Sleep, Sloane,” he murmurs, nuzzling into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
His warmth sinks into me, and it’s been such a long day I should be asleep in seconds. Instead I become aware of every inch of his body touching mine. Freshly showered, the scent of his soap is strong, only adding to the sensation of being surrounded by him. His thighs are pressed to mine, the bare skin of his forearm resting on my stomach where my shirt has ridden up.
“Sloane…” My name emerges as a garbled plea when I shift my weight again. Wes slides his hand to my hip and tightens his hold. “You okay?”
My thoughts are racing, a tangle of guilt and grief over today’s destruction, and even more guilt over the fact that I’m quickly becoming consumed with something else. Something I don’t entirely know how to verbalize, but when I press my ass back into Wes, he gets the message.
And I get hard evidence his thoughts aren’t far from mine.
“You trying to start something, darlin’?” Wes rubs his palm down the outside of my thigh and back up in a slow stroke. When I stay quiet, he dips his mouth to my shoulder and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my skin in what feels like invitation.
Guilt momentarily wins. “No,” I whisper. He goes utterly still, his grip loosening and his body easing away from mine. I grab his hand before he can pull it off my thigh and hold tight. “Wait. Maybe. I don’t know.”
