She frowned into the darkness. “Nothing. We didn’t know each other yet…or again…whatever.”
“We didn’t?” His rumbly voice sounded a little soft around the edges.
“No. I moved here in April. My birthday is February fourteenth.”
“Valentine’s Day?” His finger traced her upper lip. “How’s that working out for you?”
Hearts and flowers mixed with cake and presents? Could be worse. But she had a hard time finding her vocal cords to reply. Instead she rested her head against his shoulder, enjoying the combination of fresh-washed T-shirt and his scent. A random thought skipped through her mind. “You lied to me.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t sleep in the nude.”
“I dressed up for you.” He flexed his shoulder to scoot her head into a more comfortable position. “You do.”
She ran her hand along the collar of her robe. “I dressed up for you.”
“Savannah?”
Her name sounded sexy in his low, lazy voice. “What?”
“No need to dress up on my account.”
Chapter Eight
Beau’s feet were freezing, but the rest of him sweated under a strangely heavy fleece blanket. A way-too-warm fleece blanket. Apparently the blanket agreed, because it wiggled, and shifted, and then grew a leg and kneed him in the balls hard enough to make him grunt—and wake up.
A mass of blonde hair greeted his bleary eyes, and beneath the wayward strands he saw Savannah’s sleeping face. Dark blonde lashes didn’t so much as flutter. The imprint from the edge of the pillowcase creased one cheek. She had his blue comforter wrapped around her like a cocoon, with one smooth, slim leg kicked free and slung across his waist.
His abused balls immediately forgave her, and now he sweated for entirely different reasons. Reasons like imagining sliding his hand along her thigh, easing her onto her back and unwrapping her from the layers of blanket, sheets, and robe until he reached the warm flesh beneath. Waking her slowly—and then quickly—until she tangled her fingers in his hair and screamed loud enough to let everyone in the entire building know she was having a good morning.
Bad idea. They’d both agreed not to act on the attraction. Best to remove himself from temptation, because every second he remained here with her he got a little dumber. He slid out of bed as stealthily as possible and turned off his alarm. Whatever plans she had this morning, he doubted they required her to wake up at six. She snuggled into the warm spot left by his body andmumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Gotta check the pie.”
Sweet dreams, Savannah.
He started his shower with a blast of frigid water, which took care of the lingering disagreement between his dick and his brain. After dressing for work, he headed to the kitchen and filled his commuter mug. Then he took a ceramic mug from the cabinet for his guest, but noticed the one sitting behind it and grabbed that one instead. It suited the occasion better. A brief rummage through his junk drawer turned up a notepad and pen. He scribbled a message to his fiancée and left both note and coffee on the nightstand next to sleeping beauty, who had managed to kick off all the covers and most of her robe in the time he’d been gone. She lay facedown across his bed, with one of nature’s best works of art on full display. Two shallow dimples guarded a perfect heart-shaped ass. For a pulse-pounding moment he imagined leaning over her, bracketing the spectacular sight, and rousing her with the kind of kiss destined to leave a mark on her and make him late for work. He could practically hear her moan his name in a sleep-husky voice, and feel her arch up, lift her hips to offer him—
A slap in the face, at worst, and a whole lot of complications, at best. Get moving, Montgomery. The only thing you’re riding today is a desk.
A half hour later he stood in the break room, pouring his second cup of coffee when his partner, Hunter, wandered in. The rangy blond propped his hip against the counter, sipped his coffee, and smirked. “So, Humpty Dumpty, do anything exciting for Thanksgiving?”
Beau deliberately took his time topping off his mug and setting the carafe back on the warming plate. He waited until his partner had a mouthful of coffee before saying, “Got engaged.”
Hunter choked, and then erupted into coughs. “Holy shit. I didnot see that coming.”
“Me either.”
Hunter pulled a small flashlight from his chest pocket and shined the beam into Beau’s eye. “Exactly how hard did you get hit in the head?”
He jerked his head away. “Cut it out. My brain’s functioning just fine. In fact, I had a flash of genius.” To prove it, he laid out the pertinent points of his so-called engagement.
“Holy shit,” Hunter repeated at the end of the explanation. “You’re temporarily in bed with the tasty little blonde across the hall?”
“We’re not ‘in bed,’ blockhead.” But they had been, last night, and waking up next to her had felt better than he cared to admit.
“Hunter Knox, I’m not your maid, and I’m not cleaning the rig all by myself,” an exasperated female voice interrupted. “Fetch your coffee, kiss your work-wife good-bye, and get your ass out to the garage.”
Beau glanced past his partner to an irate brunette who managed to look like a Hollywood version of a paramedic despite the standard-issue white shirt and dark blue utility pants. “Hey, Ashley.”