Page 56 of The Beat Match

She eyed him, nose to toes, and frowned. “Please tell me you don’t sleep in that.”

He glanced down at his T-shirt and linen pants. “It’s better than my usual sleep attire.”

“You look like you’re going yachting. All you’re missing is a dollop of caviar and a glass of expensive Scotch. How is this better?”

“I sleep naked.”

She took an eyeful of him, cheeks blushing, like he was naked and she was starved. Exactly how he wanted her. Hungry. Ready for him. When he finally got his hands on her, slow wouldn’t be an option.

“I bet the women you’ve had love that,” she said, a slight break in her voice.

Was she jealous of his past? Not that he was much better, considering his vicious jealousy tonight. Even when younger, the boyfriends she’d talked about had irked him. He’d assumed his reactions had been of a protective nature, a big brother looking out for his little sister. How blind he’d been.

“I’ve never slept with a woman,” he said.

She raised a skeptical brow.

He pushed off the door frame and stalked toward the bed. “Let me rephrase—I’ve never slept with a woman overnight. I sleep alone, and I sleep naked.”

She watched him approach, tracked his every move. She was sitting up, his shirt on her revealing a swell of beautiful breast, the sheets gathered up to her waist. He flipped off the main light and slid into his side, resting his head on his palm. He looked up at her from his lower position. Giving her height, power, control—Rosanna’s advice still in his mind. He waited for her to speak.

“If you don’t sleep with women, why’d you ask me to sleep over?”

He wasn’t sure. Even with Lila, during their three month relationship that had ended with him ghosting on her, they had never slept together overnight. He liked to run early, work late. Easy excuses. The night she’d whispered I love you, she’d been grasping at straws, unsure why he wouldn’t stay over, thinking the declaration would be a turning point for them. It had only emphasized how messed up Weston was.

That was then. This was now. This was Annie, looking down at him with big vulnerable eyes. He wished he could see their color better—untrusting brown or vibrant green, or a swirl of both as she tried to figure him out. “I want you to sleep over because it feels right,” he said. “I want this because I’ve never had it with anyone and can’t imagine sleeping next to anyone but you.”

True closeness. The thing that scared him most. The thing he might lose.

“Wow. That was…wow.”

She might not think so shortly. “Do you want to talk now or in the morning?”

She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “Morning?”

Relief had his breath rushing out. He did want this night, a simple sleepover, something he’d never shared with anyone. The vulnerability of waking up, unguarded and pliable, next to a woman he loved. A test to see if he’d panic in the morning. No sex on the table, just intimacy.

She scooted lower, pulled the sheets up to her neck. “So you’re really sleeping in linen pants?”

“Absolutely.” He wouldn’t survive tonight if Annie accidentally brushed against him.

“We need to get you flannels.”

“I don’t wear flannel.”

“You won’t become a lumberjack. Or a hipster.”

“I’d become hideously unstylish.”

She mock shuddered. “The horror.”

He shifted closer to her. “Would you like me in flannel?”

She reached over and traced his eyebrows, the length of his nose. “I like you all formal and buttoned up, knowing there’s a secret DJ under all that expensive wool.”

He plucked her hand from his face, kissed her palm, and pressed her hand against his sternum. They linked fingers, and she sighed. They didn’t talk again. He watched her eyes get heavy, her limbs sinking heavier into his mattress. Her breath slowed and deepened until her lips parted slightly. Heat flared in his chest, so hot and fierce his bones ached. Mine. Every inch of this woman was his. Until he shattered her image of him.

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