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Not tonight, though.
Tonight, I can’t quiet my mind enough to find peace.
And it’s not because I’m sharing a bed with Jameson for the first time, even though he was a gentleman and put a pillow between us after sensing my unease. It’s because my thoughts keep wandering to the man sleeping on the other side of the wall.
Needing to do something to settle my unease, I carefully slip out from underneath the luxurious duvet and tiptoe across the lush carpet, opening the door and stepping into the hallway.
As I pass Creed’s room, I hesitate, debating whether I should knock, see if he’s awake so I can tell him everything I’d wanted to earlier today.
Everything I should have told him earlier today.
Instead, I gave in to temptation.
It can’t happen again.
It won’t happen again.
If we stand any chance of keeping what happened between us a secret, we need to clear the air.
Not continue fooling around.
But I made the mistake of trying to talk to him in his room earlier and look at how that turned out. We need to have this conversation in neutral territory. Or at the very least, nowhere remotely close to a bed.
Or a shower.
Or a bathroom vanity.
It needs to be in the open where anyone could walk in.
Otherwise, I don’t trust myself, the pull I feel toward him too strong.
So instead of knocking, I continue past his room, the wood floor cool on my feet as I pad down the stairs, the house quiet now that everyone’s sleeping.
I make my way into the dimly lit kitchen and open the industrial refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water. As I close the door, I sense a darkened figure standing by the island where no one was seconds ago.
My heart ricochets into my throat, hand flying to my chest as I try to get my pulse under control.
And it’s not simply because I was startled.
It’s because of the man standing gloriously shirtless in front of me, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants.
I never knew such a dull color could be so sexy.
Until now.
Creed Lawson in a pair of gray sweatpants is one of the most sinful things I’ve ever seen.
And also one of the most dangerous.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he offers softly, his deep voice seeming to thunder in the stark silence.
“It’s okay.” I increase the space between us, clearing my throat. “I didn’t hear you approach.” I attempt to twist the cap off the bottle. But I’m so riddled with unease that it’s a lost cause.
“Allow me.” Creed steps toward me and extends his hand, expression unreadable.
As always.
I pass him the bottle, and he easily removes the cap before returning it to me.
