Page 145 of Wrecked
Hawk walked past her bedroom, didn’t even glance in.
He turned on his bedroom light, then he went into his bathroom. Then, his bedroom light went out and she was plunged into darkness. Her heart sank.
She lay there for as long as she could stand it, but sleep wouldn’t come. Pushing out of bed, she left the bedroom and stood in the hallway. To the left was his bedroom, to the right the stairs.
She was frozen on the spot, unable to decide.
He turned on a bedroom lamp, then appeared in his doorway, dressed in a pair of shorts.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“No.”
He held out his hand. “Come on. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re beside me. Where’s your Glock?”
“In my bag.”
“Bring it.”
“You’re scaring me.”
That made him smile. Seeing his beautiful expression kicked up her pulse.
“I’m going to protect you, not shoot you.”
She retrieved her weapon. He was waiting in his bedroom doorway, his hands gripping the doorframe over his head. His eyes blazed with desire, his gaze cemented on hers.
The walk down the short hallway felt like the longest road she’d ever traveled. One step at a time, she made her way to him while his semi morphed into a hefty erection, tenting his shorts to the max.
“Ignore the Little General,” he said.
The playfulness in his voice made her smile, but that erection was no laughing matter. He was ready.
But she was not.
“Your General might be a lot of things, but he’s definitely not little.” She slipped her hand in his and that missing puzzle piece clicked into place.
He walked her to the far side of his bed, then kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep.”
“Uh-huh.” With him next to her, how was that gonna happen?
He walked around the bed, slid in.
She flicked on the small table lamp, then opened the drawer to place her gun inside. A small, framed picture was there, so she shut the drawer, set her gun on the table, and crawled in beside him.
And she breathed easy for the first time in a long, long time.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m so sad about Ronald and Melinda, and now Barry.”
“Me, too, babe.” He paused, then said, “Computer, turn off the bedside lamp.”
“I’m going to find who did this,” she whispered. “And I’m gonna rip their hearts out.”
Beneath the blanket, he clasped her hand. She rolled toward him, but she didn’t run her fingers across his sculpted chest or down his washboard abs. If she did, that would be it. She’d be on him. He’d be in her. It would be over in a flash.
If she was going to take the next step with him, she had to be sure she could handle it. She’d risked losing him once. She wouldn’t risk losing him again.
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