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What?
Eyes wide, she stared across the room while lifting one hand to finger the neck strap of her apron as heat flooded her whole body.
“Turns out, I was right.”
Was he drunk? She didn’t think so off of two beers, but—
Oh—shit.
Her heart lodged in her throat as realization hit. He found the sketch.
Okay. Deep breath. That’s fine. Clearly, the feeling is mutual.
Heart thumping in her chest, she gripped the ball roller as she waited for him to turn and look at her. One sultry invitation from his gorgeous amber eyes and she’d run over and jump him before he could say, “I want you now.”
But he didn’t turn. He didn’t even say another word.
Was he waiting for her to make a move?
Probably. Especially since she had been the one to shut him down last weekend. “We’re neighbors. We can’t do this.” Funny thing was, the more time she spent with him, the more she kept forgetting her own argument.
Or, maybe not forgetting it, but for sure not giving a shit about it.
As she debated what to do, a light snore sounded from the couch. In the blink of an eye, all her super-charged tension drained away. Another snore made her smile, and then she outright laughed at him—and herself—as she made her way over to the couch.
Asher didn’t move a muscle at her laugh, confirming he’d fallen dead asleep.
Still smiling, she eased the sketch pad off his lap, flipped it closed on a cake design for next month, and set it on the coffee table. He shifted slightly, and she studied his face for a long moment. Even when asleep, he was panty-melting pretty.
The red scrape and underlying bruise on his cheekbone shifted her ridiculous disappointment that they weren’t both horizontal on the couch at the moment to concern over how he’d gotten the injury.
He’d said it was a little slip, but once or twice during the past hour or so, she’d caught a wince on his face as he shifted. Her chest constricted at the thought of him being in danger. A little slip didn’t result in a guy looking like he’d gone a round or two with a mountain and the mountain won. If he was sore now, he’d be hurting even more in the morning.
She glanced toward the living room windows that faced his house across the street. If she was smart, she’d wake him right now so he could go home and sleep in his bed. Better for his battered body, not to mention, what would their other neighbors think when they saw his car in her driveway in the morning?
Would he care?
Did she care?
She should, but didn’t really. More so, she liked having him here in
her house with her. She’d been drawn to him from the moment she’d seen him wrapping up the pieces of cake at his friends’ wedding. Once he’d stopped being a jerk—and even she had to admit his reasons for that were actually quite decent—she’d discovered not only was the guy hot, he was genuinely nice and easy to talk to.
Plus, he had awesome taste in cake and cars.
She dragged a throw blanket off the back of the couch to spread it over him. When she leaned over to tug it up his chest, she couldn’t help a wistful glance at his relaxed lips.
Extra plus—he kissed like a god. And smelled delicious, too.
She looked back up just as his lashes lifted, and she was inches away from his beautiful amber gaze. Her heart kicked hard in her chest. Confusion flickered in his expression, so she drew up one knee and sank down on the edge of the couch beside him. “Hey. You fell asleep.”
He blinked hard, then pushed up to more of a sitting position before drawing his arms out from under the blanket to flip it down over his lap. “Sorry.”
She smiled. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve warned you how boring cake sketches are.”
“No, the sketches were great,” he argued, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “I’m just wiped from the day. How long was I out?”
“Only a few minutes. In fact, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
