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I shivered again as I heard another door slam. I rolled my head to the side. He was there, his dark presence taking up most of the cab. I blinked, shaking my head.
He was staring at me, studying me closely. He was wet.
I didn’t like that he was wet.
“No,” I croaked out. I felt weird. I was still cold.
“No, what?” he snapped.
I lifted my hand—or tried to.Why did I want to touch that beard?
He needed to be warm.
“You’re wet,” I rasped.
He stared.
My throat hurt now. Today was a bad day.
“Don’t want you wet and cold…” I trailed off as another shiver rolled through me.
Then, we were moving. “Flying again,” I said, closing my eyes.
“Come on, City Girl. Stay with me. Let me see those pretty eyes,” a deep, velvet voice rumbled.
Cold.
So damn cold.
But my eyes were pretty.
Everything faded away and I was back in my mom’s flower shop…
MyeyesopenedandI was back in my hotel room.
It was all a dream, a horrible, embarrassing dream.
My body ached, and my throat was still scratchy. I was so tired, my brain convinced me that this hotel bed wasactually comfortable. It hadn’t been comfortable the last however many weeks I’d slept in it.
I rolled over, groaning in frustration. I pulled the pillow under me, wrapping my arm around it and resting my head on top. Even the pillows were comfortable again.
The pillows also smelled good—like pine and mint.
Like—
I sat up, gasping and throwing the pillow off the bed.
This wasn’t the hotel.
Blinking quickly, I took a second to look around me. I was in a room—a man’s room.
I was in a man’sbed.
The room was large, a window to the left of me, the dark grey curtains still open, letting the moonlight come through. I sat in the middle of a large bed, surrounded by hunter green sheets, blankets, and pillows. The walls were painted a dark gray, the hardwoods a rich, deep brown. The furniture was wooden, stained dark, and looked handmade.
I swung my legs over the bed and stood.
I wasn’t wearing pants.
