I blinked sleepily at him.
“Don’t think he’s that stupid, but you pissed Ronnie Cockran off tonight, humiliated him,” he continued, voice no longer soft. “Not takin’ any risks with you.” He cupped my cheeks. “Not putting you in danger.”
Though he was mighty serious and speaking like he was uttering a vow, I couldn’t help but grin. “Are you ever gonna stop the protective, alpha routine?”
His gaze was so intense, I was surprised it didn’t scald me. “Never.”
There it was. Another vow. One that felt heavy and permanent.
I took a moment to digest this. Though he was being over the top protective, he wasn’t entirely wrong. I had humiliated Ronnie today. And he’d stared at me with cold hatred and anger. If he wasn’t ready to take responsibility for his actions, he was likely ready to blame whomever was closest. Punish them.
And that was me.
It should’ve worried me more than it did.
But it didn’t.
Not with Rowan in front of me.
“You’re not sleeping in the guest room this time, though,” I whispered.
His posture stiffened, and I watched his jaw flex. “Not a good enough man to fight you on that, Nora.”
I didn’t hold back my grin, going up on my tiptoes so I could lay my lips against his. “Good,” was all I said.
Though I was still incredibly sensitive between my legs from the use of my vibrator, I had plans for Rowan tonight. He was going to be in my bed. And he was going to be wearing… whatever he wore to sleep. I was going to see that naked, muscular torso. Touch it.
My hunger for him burned brightly and fiercely, even though exhaustion made my limbs heavy and slack.
I went through my skincare routine as quickly as I possibly could, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier as I did so.
“I’ve got an extra toothbrush,” I told Rowan when I emerged from the bathroom.
Then I stopped short.
Rowan had taken his shirt off and folded it neatly on one of the plush armchairs facing the doors to my balcony. There were two—large, linen and cozy, complete with ottomans. Putting two there was my version of manifesting, I guessed since my bedroom was one of the first rooms completed in my home, and I’d been single at the time.
There hadn’t been anyone for me to sit next to at that time, watch the sunset with glasses of wine before retiring to bed. It had made no sense to spend an obnoxious amount of money on not one but two chairs when I had no evidence the second chair would get any use.
So of course, Nathan coming into the bakery not that long after I finished my bedroom and asking me out was something I took as a sign.
And it was only just now, in my sleepy state, I realized that was why I had held on to him so tight, ignored so many of the blazing red flags.
All because of that fucking chair.
Although it was a huge breakthrough, I didn’t linger on that epiphany for long. Because Rowan was in my bedroom.
Shirtless.
And he was perfection.
My eyes took him in hungrily. As I expected, he was ripped. All muscles. Biceps, shoulders, pecs. As if carved from marble. And the ridges of his abs… I had a very strong urge to run my tongue between them.
On closer inspection, I saw them. The scars. Not a lot, but enough. Enough scars marring the smooth, solid skin of his torso. Scars that communicated he had lived a violent life. That he had been in situations where people were trying to kill him.
My heart bled for him, for the man who’d had to experience that and come back to a family that loved him but wouldn’t understand what he’d become.
I swallowed, thinking about all of that while still taking in his naked torso.
His jeans were unbuttoned, and he looked like he was just about to step out of them.
I licked my lips.
“Gotta stop doin’ that, cupcake,” Rowan said as he closed the distance between us, rubbing my bottom lip with his thumb.
“Doing what?” I whispered.
“Looking at me like that.” He grasped my hips, pulling our bodies flush together. “Makes me want to fuck you right here on this floor.”
It was a good thing he was holding on to me because I didn’t quite trust my legs to hold me up after that little statement.
“I wouldn’t be… adverse to that,” I replied, my voice rough and full of need.
“Neither would I,” he murmured as he yanked me even closer to show how much he wanted that. Me.
Need coiled through me.
“But you’re dead on your feet, cupcake,” he continued, smoothing back some hair on my face. “You were up before the sun today, on your feet all day, and I’ve got a hunch you got about as much sleep as I did last night because I was imagining this.” He pressed his lips against mine. Soft at first, but then harder, hungrier.