Maverick shifts, glancing toward the dark hallway that leads to the bedroom. I see the tension in his shoulders, the way he tries to mask it as he sighs. “I’m in no rush.”
No. He wouldn’t be, would he? Not with the storm still cracking outside. The fact that this big, broad-shouldered man is rattled by thunder does something to me—warms something soft inside my chest. But the part that gets me even more? He’s trusting me to be here.
I open my mouth to reassure him, but then he yawns obnoxiously—and I giggle. “You faker. You’re exhausted.” I hesitate, biting my bottom lip. “Would it be weird if I—I don’t know—I offered to share the bed with you?”
His head tilts, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Share the bed?” he echoes, making sure he heard me right. “Mybed, you mean?”
Semantics. “Yeah,” I say, voice soft. “I mean, you don’t have to be alone in the storm; I’m not out here in the dark. We just ...” I shrug. “Share the space.”
One side of his mouth kicks up into a slow grin. “Wow. What a tempting offer.”
I nudge his knee with mine. “It’s purely practical.”
He pretends to think it over. “So strictly survival based?”
“Exactly,” I say, trying not to smile too hard. “Hands to ourselves, no funny business. I swear I won’t even breathe in your direction.”
He pulls a face as if he hates that idea. “Nobreathing? Wow. You hate the dark more than I hate storms if you’re willing to give up breath.”
I laugh before yawning yet again. “I’m trying to sweeten the deal.”
“Fine, I accept. But only if you wear pajamas.”
I mean,Obviouslywe’re wearing pajamas.
Except . . .
Not expecting a roommate, the only pajamas I brought are skimpy. Sexy cute?Yes.Appropriate for sharing a bed with a very large, very warm, very male stranger?Debatable.
I snort. “Define pajamas.”
His eyebrows rise, clearly amused. “You know. Fabric.Coverage.Something that won’t land us in morally gray territory.”
Morally gray territory? Sounds delicious and exciting, if you ask me!
“Gotcha.” I stand, adjusting the blanket around my shoulders. “Come on, Captain Scaredy-Cat. Let’s go to bedappropriatelynext to each other without making it weird.”
Too late.
It’s already weird.
We go off in opposite directions, using the flashlights on our phones—him toward the bedroom, me toward my duffel near the bathroom, my makeshift camp since I have no bedroom.
I take my sweet time changing in the modest light, mostly because I’m trying to work up the nerve to walk to the shared bed wearing my clean sleep clothes: a thin white tank that clings in all the places it shouldn’t and satin lavender sleep shorts that could pass as underwear.
I pull on the bottoms. Brush my teeth in the dark. Pee.
When I step into the bedroom, he’s there—and he’s not under the covers yet.
Nope. Why would he be?
Maverick is standing at the edge of the bed, raking a hand through his hair, wearing nothing but dark boxer briefs that sit low on his hips, shadows hitting theVof his abs, and suddenly I forget how walking works ...
Cool, cool.
My brain has left the chat.
He glances up, gaze doing a fast sweep of my body, from my bare legs to the nipples pressing against my tank top before he catches himself and glances quickly away, jaw clenching.
