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I shoot up in the bed just in time to see a shadowy tail dart behind the kitchenette cabinet. “Oh my god!” I shriek.
At the same time, Davis—dressed in nothing but his freaking boxers—leaps to his feet with a loud shout, blankets pooling around his ankles.
“Was that a—?”
“A fucking mouse,” he confirms, a stunned expression on his tired face.
“Okay, that’s it,” I declare, putting my foot down. “I amnotletting you have your face chewed off by mice in the middle of the night. I am not a monster. We’re sharing this bed and that’s that.”I lift the edge of the blanket, inviting him in to join me.
It’s not until his eyes scan over my body that’s only partially hidden by the blanket that I remember I’m wearing nothing but a long t-shirt. I self-consciously shift my legs, hoping it hasn’t been too long since I last shaved them.
He tries to blink his uncertainty away. “I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
I can’t help but flick my gaze down his glorious body. A startling rush of awareness washes through me like a flash flood.
His muscled chest is even thicker than I remember, and I’m surprised to find it decorated with new ink I’ve never seen before. A ring dangles from the chain hanging around his neck.Wait—is that his wedding band?Can’t be.
His abs are tight. His thighs look like they were carved out of stone. And his cock—I can’t pretend not to notice the long, stiff outline bulging against the white cotton of his boxer-briefs.
Dayum!My mouth waters.
“Of course it’s not a good idea,” I huff. “None of this is a good idea. But we don’t have many options here tonight.”
This roadtrip is quickly turning into a real-life game ofSurvivor.It’s best to play nice before I get kicked off the island. I would not survive getting forced to sleep in a tent. Or in the car. Or at one of those spider hotels in town.
I need to suck it up. We both do.
Davis takes one last lingering glance at my porcupine legs. He grabs the whiskey and swallows another sizable gulp. Then he stalks toward the bed. “Fine. Scoot over.”
A needy throb pulses at my achy core. And who can blame me? The man looks like a pornstar hovering over the bed, muscled and shirtlessandpants-less in the glow of the fire.
I have to deliberately remind myself that my ex-husband doesn’twantto be sleeping anywhere near me or my hairy legs. But, I can’t even fault him for that. He has every right to hate me.
It hurts. Far more than I expected it to. I try to not let it get to me.
I shimmy backward and he carefully lowers onto the thin mattress next to me. It quickly becomes obvious that this bed wasnotmade for two adults.
We shift around beneath the sheets, trying to find the right positions to somehow get somewhat comfortable without either of us falling off. It’s not our finest moment as we scoot around, elbowing each other and apologizing, kneeing each other and apologizing again.
Not only is the bed far too narrow, but apparently it’s too short as well—for Davis, at least. He sort of has to ball up his six-foot-three-inch body on the edge of the bed so that his limbs don’t hang over the side.
Finally, we give up trying to move around. We each find a pseudo-comfortable spot on our respective edges, laying back to back, each claiming one corner of the pillow we’re forced to share.
After all thesorrysand the sheet-ruffling earlier, it’s now eerily silent. Sleep doesn’t come easy, aswould-havesandshould-havesflash vividly through my mind.
It’s a long time until I hear Davis’s deep, rhythmic breathing behind me.
When I’m absolutely sure that he’s asleep. I can’t help but rise onto my elbow and glance over my shoulder.
My heart goes weak, collapsing into my tummy at the beautiful sight of him. The golden streaks in his wavy dark hair. The freckles scattered across his wide tanned shoulders.
I almost can’t stop myself from turning over and wrapping my arms around him.
But that would be wrong.
So I lower to my side of the bed and wrap my arms around myself instead. I’m all I’ve got now.
Eventually, I drift off, my cheek nestled in the tears soaking my corner of the pillow.
