I lifted my gaze to him, not quite noting that his gait was not fluid with a hitch, but was wooden, as he made his way around the bed.
Though I did notice his eyes were glued to me.
“You sleep with a fan?” I asked.
“What?” he asked back in a way that it seemed like he wasn’t certain what language I was speaking.
I tossed a hand out to the fan that was sitting on a long dresser that sat against the wall to the closet.
“Fan? I do white noise. But if it’ll bother you, I probably could do without it.”
“Probably” was pushing it, but we were feeling our way with this.
I’d fall asleep.
Eventually.
He was stopped by his side of the bed and staring at the fan like it’d dropped from space.
Finally, his strange demeanor hit me.
“Rix?” I called.
His gaze crashed down on me.
No other way to describe it.
It crashed on me.
“I’m taking my legs off now,” he announced.
I felt my brows knit and returned, “Well, yeah. I mean, you don’t sleep in them, of course. Right?”
“Right,” he whispered, the weight of his attention still heavy on me.
What was going on?
Was I supposed to do something?
“Am I missing something?” I asked carefully when he didn’t move.
“Are you missing something,” he muttered, not a question, and he didn’t answer me, but somehow, I felt like these four words were meaningful to him.
I just couldn’t figure out why.
“Rix, you’re kinda freaking me out,” I said softly.
“You’re a fuckin’ unicorn,” he declared.
I blinked. “What?”
He again didn’t answer.
He turned. I got the phoenix back. He sat, and I was treated to the spectacle of his muscles moving and flowing before I heard thud one then thud two.
He swung his arm long, grabbed the covers, and he was twisted and in bed with the covers up to his waist before…
Before…
Before I could see his legs.
God.
I was such an idiot.
Like, start to finish idiot.
Like, sure, he was tuned to me. We seemed pretty tuned to each other.
But this man walked up to my chair on the deck a few hours earlier, and knew he’d be right there.
With me.
Like this.
But with him exposed.
I was a total dufus.
He turned his head to me, and ordered softly, “Wanna turn out your light, baby?”
I sat there, staring at him.
His face.
His chest.
The dense hair under his belly button.
My pink sheet and white matelassé coverlet resting across his hips.
“Alexandra.”
My eyes raced up to his face.
“Can you sleep with a fan?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“Good,” I said.
He twisted and turned out his light.
He came back, his gaze narrowed on me, and he asked, “You sleep with a light on too?”
Him and me?
We were doing this.
For a while.
And in that exact moment, I decided for my part I was doing this.
Heartstrings be damned.
I was giving this magnificent man everything.
Everything I had.
When he was done, he could move on to a woman who could make him happy.
And that would be devastating.
And glorious.
Because I wanted that for him.
I craved that for him.
But in the meantime…
I pushed up to my knees, then adjusted until I was facing him.
“Babe—”
He cut himself off when I yanked my cami over my head, and I was naked up top.
His gaze instantly dropped to my chest.
My breasts were large, not exactly in proportion to my body.
I’d always been a tad self-conscious of them.
Now was no different.
It was going to get worse.
I undid the drawstring of my boxers.
“Baby,” he whispered.
I pulled them down, fell to my hip, shoved them over my knees quick as I could, kicking them off.
They flew over the side of the bed.
That was a lot farther than I wanted them to be, but I couldn’t go after them now.
Before I lost courage, I got back up on my knees facing him. That done, I found I’d tapped too deep into my reserves, so I couldn’t stop myself from covering what I could of my breasts with one arm, holding the bulge of my belly that I was about ten thousand times more self-conscious about than my breasts in my other hand.
Rix was statute still, except his eyes were moving all over me.
I felt the heat creep and said, “I should probably lay off the oatmeal cookies.”
His gaze ceased roaming to rest on mine.
And his hand came out, fingers wrapping around my wrist at my stomach, but that was it.
Except he murmured, “Come here, Alex.”
I didn’t move.
“Baby, come here. Now.”
I swallowed, started to move, and he threw back the covers.
I looked.
I saw his thighs and knees, muscled, perfect, pristine, several inches of flesh below, then his limbs were neatly tucked away.
I kept moving, swinging a leg over his hips, and hiding my nudity by bending forward and resting my torso on him.
His chest hair was even better, skin to skin.
He wrapped both arms around me.
“Christ,” he said to my face, “you’re fuckin’ something.”