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I open my mouth when he stops talking, but he holds his hand up.
"I don't like how this feels," he finally says. "I don't like surprises. I don't like to worry."
"I'm sorry I worried you," I offer, but he just narrows his eyes.
"I've never fucked a woman once and had her burrow under my skin as you have."
"Well, aren't you romantic."
"Tell me what made you text me tonight. Don't bullshit me either, cherie. You've been silent, made it clear you were done, yet here I am. So, tell me, what's up."
"I'm not done."
"You've got a bad way of showing it."
"I've had a long past few weeks at work, Shane."
"Yeah? So have I, Nikki, but it didn't stop me from thinking about you."
The flutters in my stomach pick up at his mention of thinking about me. "I didn't know what to say," I finally whisper. "I didn't know ... I'm not used to this, Shane."
"That makes two of us."
"I'm sorry I didn't call you, but you could have called me too."
"Yeah, I could've."
"Uh, okay."
"Nikki ... cherie, I'm begging you to just tell me what you need so I can get home and crash. It was just Nate and me on the main bar tonight; we had seven people call out or get sent home sick. I'm dead on my feet, but I knew I wouldn't be able to turn my mind off without seeing that you're okay with my own eyes."
"You're acting like a real boyfriend and not a fake one, you know."
"Nikki," he fumes, dragging those two syllables out.
I hold my hands up. "I wanted to revisit our talk from that night."
"You want to revisit our talk?"
"Yes. This time without our hormones muddling things."
He laughs. "You want me?"
My cheeks heat. "I think you know the answer to that." I cross my arms over my chest, hiding my stiff nipples from his view. The shirt covering them offers
no help in masking how much it turns me on for him to talk in that low rumble of his.
My eyes follow his movements as he moves to drop his bulk down on my worn couch. A rush of air coming out as he drops his head back against the couch, looking at the ceiling. The silence continues as he blinks up at nothing. Now that he isn't scowling, I can see just how exhausted he is. His eyes have a shadow under each of them, his normal larger than life hard-as-nails persona isn't joining us. He's just Shane; stripped down and raw Shane.
"How about you crash here, and tomorrow morning, I'll cook you breakfast and we can talk. No sex, no touching, just sleeping and talking in the morning. If, when we wake up, you aren't interested in what I have to say, that's okay. But until then, we both get some sleep and table this conversation for after we've gotten some rest."
His head rolls on the back of the couch until his eyes clash with mine. There seems to be so much working behind his gaze, but it's moving too fast for me to decipher it. He silently stands and walks over to me, grabbing my head gently and pressing his lips to mine in a hard, closed-mouth kiss. Then he releases me and walks to my room. I lock up, turn off the lights, and creep down the hallway, my breath catching when I step into my room and see every rock-hard inch of Shane Kingston face down and passed out, completely naked with not a single tan line on his glorious body.
I walk back out to the linen closet and grab the huge quilt my grandmother made me years ago. Shane doesn't even stir when I settle on the bed and drape the quilt over both of us. In fact, he doesn't move once ... until I curl on my side, facing the wall with my back to him, and fall asleep. Unfortunately for me--since I fell asleep--I missed him turning and pulling me into his strong arms.
And I also missed his whispered words.
"Not sure I can be your fake anything, mon colibri."
"How do you like your eggs?"
Shane looks up, his sleepy eyes hitting mine. "When did you wake up?"
"Uh, not too long ago," I answer, looking at the clock. I hide my wince when I see that it's not even nine yet. No way I'm going to tell him just how long I've been up. I woke up three hours ago, and I've been going insane since. I've never been one to sleep the day away, but the second my mind woke up and I felt Shane against me--holding me tightly in his arms with every inch of his body touching me from head to toe--I wouldn't have ever been able to get back to sleep even if leaving his arms was the last thing my still exhausted mind wanted to do. It took me longer to get out of his hold than I care to admit, but he looked so peaceful, so not like he did last night, that I wanted him to get as much sleep as he needed. I don't even allow myself to analyze why I was so drawn to stay in his arms.
God, I'm getting in so far over my head, and we haven't even started whatever this is.
"Right," he says gruffly. "You're a shit liar."
"I'm not lying!" I wave the spatula at him and narrow my eyes, heat hitting my cheeks.
He steps up behind me, his solid body hitting all my soft curves, and I sway, unable to hide my reaction from his touch. His lips ghost over my neck and up to my ear, warm breath bathing my skin as goose bumps chill my body.
"When you lie, your nose wrinkles. Just one side, cute as hell, but a dead giveaway."
"It does not," I retort breathily.
"It does. You also blush, right here," he whispers, his hand coming around me and his fingers swirling around the skin exposed between the open buttons of the shirt I'm wearing. "I bet, if I could see them, your tits would be the same light pink as your chest."
