But as I head back into my bedroom to grab my e-reader from my nightstand, the hunk of musky man in my personal space stops me short.
Is that Rush Garrison lying in my bed?
The dawning sun just beginning to seep in behind my drapes tells me yes. It actually is.
Suddenly, I’m fully awake. My heart pumps furiously. OMG, he spent the night here. In my house. In my bed. What did we do, and why can’t I remember any of it? Damn it, I want to. It was epic, right? It had to be…
I scan my memories through my wine-induced haze and one memory penetrates immediately. There are just some things a girl will never forget, no matter how much booze she imbibes.
I think of you. I want you. I dream of you. I masturbate to thoughts of you. I would love to kiss you. I would kill to fuck you.
Rush said all that. To me. It wasn’t a dream.
Yes, and what did I do? I freaking passed out.
Brilliant.
At my feet, Kitty Pie rubs against my ankles, darting between them as she looks up at me with a mournful meow. So I make a mad dash to the kitchen and open a can of kitten food. She’s right on my heels.
“I don’t know how you eat this,” I tell my feline as I scoop the food into her bowl. “It smells horrible.”
But she’s incredibly happy as she dives in face-first, apparently not caring about my opinion.
When I drop the spoon in the kitchen sink, I spy my missing knife. When did that turn up? Where?
Does it matter right now? Super-hot Rush Garrison is lying in your bed and he’s dying to have sex with you. What are you waiting for?
The punch line, I guess. But maybe there isn’t one.
I hustle back down the hall and spot Rush coming out of my bathroom, wearing an expression I can’t decipher. But then, I can’t think because I realize the only other thing he’s wearing is a pair of dark boxers. The rest of him is all hair-roughened bulges and inked muscle. His shoulders look as if they could hold up the world and still have strength to spare. The solid breadth of his wide chest narrows to his abs that have so many packs I lose count—along with the ability to speak. My mouth hangs open as my gaze keeps drifting down. Everything about him is so male and naked. And hard. There’s no denying he’s excited to see me.
I swallow.
“Vanessa?”
He knows I’m gawking. How mortifying.
I manage—somehow—to wrench my glance down to the floor. “Morning.”
My feet come into focus, along with something totally horrifying—my nipples. Before I fell asleep last night, I tossed on the first thing I could find, an old, threadbare cami—and not a single other stitch. It’s plain. It’s white. And under the light filtering out of the bathroom, it’s basically transparent.
Kill me now.
I risk a glance around the room to see if there’s a robe in sight. All I find is Rush scanning me up and down, his eyes flaring hot as his stare brands between my legs, singes my breasts, then fastens on my own. “Morning.”
Oh, god. Everything about him arouses me. I can’t breathe.
What is he thinking? Wanting? Did he really mean those words he growled at me last night?
How do I respond? Indecision grips me. Cover up my feelings and hide…or go for it?
I know what I want.
“Vanessa.” He swallows as if he’s trying to say something difficult. “We need to talk.”
Of course. He’s changed his mind. He wants to tell me his come-on was merely the wine talking. Or that he was simply horny. Or that he only said what he thought would take my mind off everything traumatic yesterday.
But I don’t want to hear whatever bad news he feels the need to break. If this is my one chance, despite the fact we work together and I only know what I’m doing because I read some really hot books, I’m going to give this my all.
“Can it wait?”
He looks confused. Then his stare rakes me again. His hands curl into fists. “Is something wrong?”
“No. But I need to…” What? Plead with him to forget that, until last night, he’d been nothing but my co-worker who had never shown a bit of interest in me? “Never mind. I can’t say this with words.”
Before I lose my nerve, I stomp in his direction, plaster my body against his, and stand on my tiptoes to circle my arms around his neck. For the second time in my life, I impulsively press my lips to his.
He freezes. I feel his surprise. It takes him a moment, and I’m so afraid he’ll push me away that my heart starts aching as it trips in my chest.
But Rush doesn’t. An instant later, he recovers from being startled—with a vengeance.