I was still too tongue-tied to put up a fight when he grabbed what he needed and set himself up on the carpet.
A sigh that borders on a groan filters from where he’s sleeping.
“Are you awake?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he grumbles, shifting around.
“Are you sore?”
“No.”
I roll my lips together and stare at the fire alarm above me, the tiny green dot a point to fix my gaze on. “Are you lying?”
He grunts in response, which I’m almost certain means he’s lying.
“Rhett.”
“Summer.” He sounds exasperated with me.
“Stop being difficult and come sleep in the bed.”
Silence fills the room, and I wonder if he heard me at all.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he rasps.
I already am. Uncomfortably horny. But I don’t say that. “You won’t. What’s making me uncomfortable is that you’re sleeping on a dirty floor with an injured shoulder or back. Get your ass up here.”
He blows out a deep breath in response, and I hear the rustling of blankets as his form takes shape across the room. When he comes to sit on the bed, the mattress dips beneath him and he scrubs at his face. The sound of his stubble rasping against his hands is more pronounced in the dark.
“You sure?”
His shoulder must be sore for him to have given in so easily.
“Eaton, stop being such a pussy and get in here. I thought you were good at hopping in and out of women’s beds.” I lift the blanket and scoot over to my side to make extra room for him.
He chuckles as he moves under the covers and drops his head onto the pillow he brought with him. “Most women aren’t as terrifying as you.”
“Yeah, right.” I tuck the covers tight around myself, as though they’ll protect me from the scent of liquorice and leather that envelops me. As if I won’t feel the heat of his body sidled up close to mine and let my mind wander.
He lies flat on his back, hands clasped over his chiseled abs. Because, of fucking course, he’s not wearing a shirt.
When his elbow bumps me, I try not to start. “I mean, you told me you were going to kill me in my sleep. I have some sense of self-preservation, you know.”
“You ride angry bulls for a living. I’m really not so sure about that.”
He huffs out a small laugh, and we fall into an uncomfortable silence.
So, like the awkward mess I am, I blurt out, “Where’s your mom? There’s an awful lot of testosterone out at that ranch. Total sausage fest.”
“She’s gone.” His voice gentles.
“Yeah. Mine too.”
His head turns in my direction. “Really? I thought you had an older sister. I know I’ve heard Kip talk about his wife.”
My face scrunches. “Yeah. Funny story that.”
“I could use a laugh.”