I move down the hall to the spare room. I push the door open just slightly, and sure enough, she’s curled up sound asleep under the sheets.
Her hair falls loose down the side of the bed, and one leg sticks out from the sheet she’s covering herself with.
I take this moment to study her features. It’s not common for me to observe her like this without the chance of her catching me gawking.
Which I do anytime she isn’t looking. I can’t help it. She does something to me that no other woman ever has. I loved Grey’s mom, but Greer. I can’t place it. She makes me feel something that both excites and terrifies me at the same time.
She takes a breath, her naked leg moving just barely and drawing my attention to the shorts she’s wearing. From my angle, they barely cover her full cheek. The bottom sticks out just perfectly, enough for my mind to wander into areas it doesn’t need to go.
Hell, she’s asleep, and I’m thinking of how her ass would be the perfect handful. How her legs look like silk. Just touching them and running my hand between them would be enough to send me over the edge.
On another breath, I move my gaze from her body to her face. Perfect pink plump lips, long thick lashes, and a button nose.
She’s fucking stunning.
Awake or asleep, I could watch her every moment of the day.
I move closer with the intention to wake her, because the longer I stand here, the more I want her and the more I shouldn’t, but the moan that comes from her makes me freeze.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Is she awake?
“Greer?” I say quietly.
She doesn’t respond.
“Greer,” I say just a touch louder.
Still nothing.
I let a moment pass, and she doesn’t make another noise. Waking her is pointless. I’ll just let her sleep here tonight. It would be wrong to wake her just so she can walk next door to another bed.
Will it be torture knowing she’s in the bed in the room next to mine? Sure. But I can handle it.
I reach for the sheet and tug it gently so I can cover her completely.
But my movements aren’t as soft as I wanted them to be.
“Simon,” she says quietly as I’m leaning over her to fix the sheet.
I let my gaze drift to hers.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” she whispers back.
Her sleepy gaze flashes from my eyes to my lips and back.
I swallow.
We’re alone. I’m aware of that. If I kiss her right now, there wouldn’t be anyone to stop us. It wouldn’t be just a stolen moment that lasts a second. I would want to take my time with her. I would need it. This woman has taken up too much time in my mind for me to not give her the attention she deserves.
She shifts, a subtle reminder that I’m still leaning over her, holding the sheet she’s under.
I should move. It makes sense to move.
But I don’t.
