I didn’t want to move, and for the longest moment, I didn’t.I lay there and listened to his rhythmic breathing, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, and the certainty settling deep in my bones—
this wasn’t casual.
This wasn’t some temporary comfort or a no-strings distraction.
This was something more.Something real.More real than anything I’d had with that guy in Manhattan—who would henceforth be known asthat guybecause he had nothing on Owen McAllister.
That guy had been handsome.Sure.
But he wasn’t steady.He wasn’t kind.He wasn’t here, wrapped around me like I mattered.
And the worst part was… it was deep.Deeper than I wanted to acknowledge at this early stage of whatever it was we were doing.
Which, frankly, was terrifying.
I shifted.Enough that he noticed and moved, his arms tightening a fraction around me.
“Not yet.”His voice was thick with sleep.
“Owen—”
“Let me have this.”One hand slipped through the short locks of my hair.“Five more minutes.”
I stopped breathing.Then whispered, “Okay.”
All the tension bled out of me.
“That’s better,” he said, sounding smug.
Like he was waiting for me to relax.
“You fit here,” he said.“I knew you would.”
Everything inside me stilled.Every nerve ending sizzled.He said it—me, fitting against the hard planes of his body—like he’d been thinking about it a long time.
Why did he have to say something so wrecking when I was already in a weakened state?I didn’t know what to say.I kept telling myself not to break the moment.
So, of course, I broke the moment.
“We meet Mrs.Rollins today,” I said.
“I know.”
“Shouldn’t we get going?”
“I have three more minutes, missy.”
I couldn’t help it.I laughed.
“Three minutes and then what?”I asked, pushing.
“Then I make you breakfast.”
“You want to cook for me?”
“Yes.”
“In my house?”
