He looked so peaceful that even the perpetual line of annoyance between his eyebrows had smoothed.
I couldn’t believe Knox Morgan was naked in my bed.
Oh, God.
Knox Morgan was naked.
In my bed.
And the sneaky son of a bitch had given me two of the most intense orgasms known to humankind. How in the hell was I supposed to look him in the eye now and not send my vagina into involuntary spasms?
Ah, there it was. My old friend, abject panic.
What was I doing in bed with a man I knew better than to sleep with mere weeks after running away from my own wedding?
I needed to get out of this bed because if Knox woke up and gave me a sleepy-eyed stare, I’d throw caution to the wind and hop right back on that cock of his without another thought.
It took a few tries, but I managed to extricate myself from his surprisingly snuggly grip. Not wanting to wake him by rummaging through drawers, I grabbed the nightgown I’d set out for tonight and wiggled into it before tiptoeing out of the room.
“One-time thing,” I chanted to myself as I made my way down the stairs.
It happened. It was over. Time to move on.
I tripped over a discarded boot on my way into the kitchen. “Ow! Damn it,” I hissed.
Waylon lifted his head from the couch, let out a yawn, and stretched luxuriously.
“Hi,” I said, feeling self-conscious that the dog might be judging me for sleeping with his human. But if the basset hound was feeling judgmental, it didn’t last because he rolled over and promptly went back to sleep.
I moved Knox’s boots away from the foot of the stairs.
We’d left a trail of clothing on the first floor, something else I’d never done.
I’d pick it all up and fold it just as soon as I had a hit of coffee.
The late night, the worry over Nash, and Waylay’s first day, not to mention the mind-altering orgasms, had all rendered me nearly comatose.
I quickly started a pot of coffee, then rested my forehead on the counter while I waited for it to brew.
I thought about Waylay, trudging onto the big yellow school bus in her purple dress and pink sneakers. Her new backpack full of supplies and snacks.
She hadn’t been excited for her first day of sixth grade. I could only imagine how awful last year, her first in Knockemout, had been. Hopefully, between Nina, Chloe, and a new teacher, Waylay would get the second chance she so deserved. And if that didn’t do the trick, I would find another solution. Waylay was a smart, funny, sweet kid, and I wouldn’t let the world ignore that.
The coffee maker beeped its siren song of a finished pot. My fingers had just closed around the handle of the coffee carafe when there was a peppy knock at the front door.
Waylon’s head popped back up from the couch.
Hastily, I poured a mug and took a scalding swallow before throwing open the door.
I choked on the mouthful of caffeine when I found my parents standing on the porch.
“There’s our girl!” My mother, looking tan and happy, opened her arms.
At 61, Amanda Witt still dressed to accentuate the curves that had caught my father’s eye in college. She took pride in coloring her hair the same auburn it had been on their wedding day, though now she wore it in a daring pixie cut. She golfed, worked part-time as a school counselor, and breathed life into every room she entered.
“Mom?” I croaked, automatically leaning in for a hug.
“Lou, isn’t this the cutest little cottage you’ve ever seen?” she said.