Page 53

But Cain was showing me, through action, that he could be trusted, that he was not only reliable but conscientious, that he was observant. That he cared.

And after many years with a man who only seemed to care about himself, it was foreign but so, so welcome.

“Babe?” Cain asked, making me realize he must have said something or called me, with the strange smile he was shooting me.

“Sorry. I was—”

“Staring at my arms?” he asked, his smile going just a tad wicked.

“Caught me,” I admitted because, well, I’d been staring at little else since he slid that jack into place. Though, there’d been a point where I’d been drooling over his shoulders, back, and butt as well. The man was all-around delicious. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you could check your book to see what tire pressure we need,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out one of those tire pressure gauges.

“Sure!” I said, hopping out of the trunk and making my way around my car to dig through the glovebox, then flip through the book to give him the right number.

Then I stood back and watched him check all four tires before finally standing, jack in hand.

“You’re all set. And now I can sleep at night.”

The thing was, that didn’t seem like a throwaway comment to me. He genuinely seemed relieved. Like it had been truly weighing on him that I was one slick road away from a nasty crash.

“What should I do with those tires?” I asked as he reached for them.

“I’ll recycle them. So,” he said after sticking the tires in his trunk with the jack. “Any chance I can ask to wash my hands in your room before we head out for coffee?”

Him.

In my space.

That sounded dangerous.

“Of course.”

With that, he fell into step with me as we made our way to the stairs and across the upper balcony all the way to my door.

“This is pretty nice,” he said as we moved inside.

“Yeah, I’ve settled in for the time being.”

I was glad the bedding was my own now. That I had found some cute, nearly free items at the thrift and dollar stores to warm the space up, to make it feel more like my own.

“Having a kitchen is good. Feels more like home than a motel.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, feeling my shoulders loosen at the complete lack of judgment in his tone as he made his way to the kitchen sink. And I was glad for that, since I had my bras hanging up in the bathroom.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have iced tea.” Two-for-one on an already dirt-cheap brand. It might have been mostly sugar with just a whisper of actual tea but it tasted good.

“Sure,” he agreed, drying his hands then moving back into the bed space as I grabbed the iced tea and poured it into the single glass I owned.

When I turned back, he was sitting off the side of the bed I didn’t sleep in, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the clings on the windows through the blinds.

I handed him the iced tea and got a thank you. Before I could decide where to go or what to do, he chugged the tea, placed the glass on the nightstand between both beds, then grabbed me and pulled me closer.

He paused, always waiting, watching, making sure I was okay with what was happening.

All I needed to do was press my hand to his shoulder.

Then his big hands gripped both my hips, tugging me the rest of the way to him, then nudging my legs with his knees until they moved around his and my butt dropped down on his legs.