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All my musings evaporate when his gaze clashes with mine. There’s so much heat in them that his brown pupils seem burnt.
The silence is too much to take so I whisper his name. “Dean…”
Without saying a single word to me, Dean grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me inside the room, making me squeak. I jump when he shuts the door behind me, still staring at me like he’ll never stop.
“At least it’s better than what you’re wearing,” he says at last, letting go of me.
I freeze in my spot. Does he not like them, my clothes?
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask carefully.
Dean steps back from me without answering and strides over to the bathroom.
Um… what was that?
I don’t know what to think. I mean, I didn’t expect him to jump my bones as soon as he saw me in these clothes, but I didn’t expect him to literally leave the room, either. I was going for a little sexual tension here and I thought I got that. Right?
I go further into the room and notice his bed is messy and almost covered with files and documents and his computer. He must be working, as always. Maybe I interrupted something and now he’s mad at me.
But damn it. When is he not working?
Dean comes out of the bathroom, looking like a man on a mission. “Nothing’s wrong with what you’re wearing except it shows more than it hides,” he almost snaps, before throwing something fluffy and white toward me. “Put this on.”
I pull the fabric off my face and realize it’s a bathrobe. “What?”
“Put it on.”
I look at the bathrobe and then at him, all rigid and stern. I’m starting to feel a little self-conscious. I tug on the hem of my lacy tank top. “You’re acting crazy.”
“I’m serious.”
I tug at my hem again but then stop. Even though he clearly doesn’t like my outfit because he looks super offended right now, I like it. I think it makes me look sexy. So screw him. Although I know I’ll probably agonize over it later in my room, I still hold my ground. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes. It’s what I wear when I’m sleeping.”
“Are you sleeping right now?”
“Well, no but—”
He tips his chin to the bathrobe in my hand. “So put it on.”
Dean’s eyebrows are arched and he’s got this arrogant and authoritative look on his face. That look messes with my head, I swear. I can’t decide if I want to tell him to cut it out or ask him why he doesn’t like what I’m wearing. Or—yes, there’s a third choice—kiss that soft mouth of his and shock the fuck out of him.
As it is, I cross my arms and let the robe fall on the ground. “No. I think you’re being stupid.”
“I think you’re being a little too naked.”
“What?”
He grits his teeth, all angry and bothered. “You walked over to my room wearing that.”
“Uh, yes…”
“Anyone could’ve seen you in…” He trails off, waving his hand in the general direction of me.
“That…” I open and close my mouth before saying, “That would bother you? Someone seeing me like this?”
Dean takes a few seconds to answer and I rub my foot against the calf of my other leg. His angry eyes are making my skin buzz with an odd electricity.
“Yes,” he replies at last, and something about his reluctant agreement makes me feel lighter.
Is he… Could he possibly be… jealous? Could his strong reaction be explained by jealousy?
“Are you—”
“Put the robe on, Fallon,” he says in an impatient tone.
“Why? I’m not outside right now. I’m in your room. And you’ve seen me in my PJs lots of times.”
“That was when you were a kid,” he snaps.
I clench my thighs and I notice his gaze dropping to the tops of my bare legs before quickly moving away and up to my face. If I were smart, I’d be scared of how furious and how agitated he seems.
But I’m not smart. I’m in love and even his harsh expression and tight cheekbones can’t scare me.
“Oh, so now you admit I’m not a kid anymore. A little too convenient, isn’t it?” I prance over to the bed and plop down on it, careful not to touch any of his precious files.
Dean watches me for a few beats, standing in the middle of the room as if stranded at sea, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to see if you were sleeping.”
“And now that you’ve seen that I’m clearly not?” he asks with clenched teeth.
I hide my smile at his irritated tone. “You know, I’m not gonna fight with you. It’s been ages since we hung out together. And I’m mature enough to not waste my time over petty fights.”
He watches me some more before sighing and raking his fingers through his hair. “I was working.”
