His hair still hadn’t seen a brush or a comb, and her fingers itched to run through the messy strands, not to control them or restrain them, but to just feel them sliding over her skin. He still wore the Steve Irwin costume—minus the stingray, of course—but the hiking boots were gone.
“You’re wearing thongs,” she said, smiling at his feet as she emphasized the Australian word for flip-flops.
“Hey, well done.” He let out a low chuckle. “Also wearing a thong.”
She snapped her stare up to his face, picturing his amazing ass in a black thong. “Really?”
With another chuckle, he ducked his head. “No. Sorry. Commando still. But it got your attention, right?”
She laughed. “It did. But you’ve had my attention from the second I saw you.”
The forward confession fell out of her mouth, her heart, before she could stop it. So much for making him beg.
Ah, who was she kidding? She didn’t want to waste any of their time together making him beg. Not unless it was making him beg in a filthy, sexy way.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought, and she bit her lip. Now was not the time for that.
Later, sure. But now…
“I’m sorry for knocking so early,” he said, his gaze on hers again. “So late. So…whatever it is.” A short little hiccup of a laugh burst from him, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Honestly, I actually have no bloody clue what time it is. My body thinks it nine p.m. I think. I’m stupidly sleep-deprived.”
He let out another laugh, this one uncertain. “Of course, I didn’t knock on your door at three a.m.—is it three a.m.? I think it’s three a.m. I’m going with three a.m.—I didn’t knock on your door at three a.m. to tell you I’m sleep-deprived. I knocked on your door at three a.m.—fuck a duck, Owen, stop saying three a.m.” He turned away, burying his hands in his hair.
Bria held the doorknob, silent. Well, that explains the crazy hair.
“You knocked on my door…” she prodded, throat tight.
Sighing, he dropped his hands and looked back at her. “I knocked on your door to say sorry.”
“Sorry?” Okay, so maybe she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Maybe she was going to make him beg. A little.
That hitchy little laugh fell from him again. “Yeah, I deserve this.” He smiled. “Sorry for being a wanker. For shutting the door on you.”
“For not letting me decide what I want to do with regards to us?”
He nodded. “Sorry for that as well.”
She studied him, took in the worry in his eyes, the shadows beneath them. He did look tired, and what she wanted more than anything was to thread her fingers through his, led him to her bed, and curl up on it with him. Be the big spoon to his little one, if he was okay with that, and just hold him as he slept. If they missed Elisa and Zeta’s breakfast interrogation, then they missed it. There’d be breakfast the next day, after all.
Will there? Or are you putting the cart before the horse?
“I just…” He stopped, clawed at his hair again, and shook his head. “I just… I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but there was almost immediately something about you, about us. And even as I was falling for you, there was a small voice in my head telling me I might be living on borrowed time, and I didn’t want to mess up your life.”
“And being with you will?”
Stop it. Hug him. Kiss him.
He pulled a face. “Might.”
“It won’t.”
“Are you sure?”
She laughed. “No. But I’m not scared to try.”
“Even if—”
“I don’t care about the even if, Owen.” She took a step closer to him, gently touching his chest, just over his heart. “I care about you. I want to more than care about you, if you’re okay with that?”