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The thing that really perplexes me is that I’m good with it. Especially when he rubs his large hands over my shoulder blades and down to the small of my back. It feels good; even the back of my head tingles.
His hand glides up the sides of my torso, grazing the rim of my breast. I curl my arm in to fight the tickle.
“Watch the side boob.”
His hand roams south and comes back up, once again caressing the tender flesh. “It’s my hand. I can place it where I want.”
“And it’s my side boob.”
With a swift roll of my body, he flips me over so I’m lying on my back as he hovers over me. Even in the morning, he looks absolutely delectable—tousled hair and ruggedly handsome with the light shadow of a beard. His mouth lowers to the side of my breast and places an open-mouthed kiss on the spot in question.
“As long as you’re in this bed, it’s mine.”
The kiss leaves me ticklish and curling to the side. He rolls over with me, coaxing my skin with his fingers and mouth until I’m laughing in surrender.
He spoons me, kissing my temple. “I love waking up with you in my bed.”
“I can’t imagine a man not enjoying waking up with any naked woman under his covers.”
“You’re not just any woman, Melissa,” his husky voice breathes against my hair, making my heart stall for a second.
I exhale sharply and roll over, forcing him onto his back, and curl into the nook of his arm and chest. My leg glides over his hips, and I hold him as my fingers play in the hair on his chest, exposed from the blankets.
Tracing his scar and the raised edges, I’m reminded of how recent this actually happened.
“Why don’t you bring it up?” I ask and hear his chest rumble with the question. “You were shot in the chest months ago, and yet you walk around like you never experienced this incredibly traumatic event.”
There’s a pause after my question. His fingers brush my forearm that’s on his chest. He likes doing this. Rubbing me. Touching me. I still my hand on his scar and let the hardened skin graze my palm.
“When it happened, it was all anyone wanted to talk about. I have five brothers and sisters, an unrelenting mother, and a father who is as involved as any parent could possibly be. I had eight people constantly checking in on me. Visiting, doting, caring. Allison was at my side literally every second of every day. That doesn’t include the counseling I got in the hospital and outpatient through work. My captain, my partner … trust me, it was brought up. I spoke about it. A lot. Right down to the day I returned to work to a party and a report in the paper about how heroic I was.”
I nod against his chest, wondering if that’s resentment I hear in his voice.
He leans his cheek against the top of my head. “Do you want to?” he asks, and I raise my head slightly. “Do you have questions?”
“Izzy told me your story. It’s sweet how she didn’t want to share the details you had shared with her, but you made an impression. When Hunter had his accident, she compared herself to you, heroic and brave. I never asked because I’d read about it in the paper. I just feel insensitive that I haven’t made this huge deal and fawned over you.”
“People do heroic things every day. Some birth babies, and others get shot in the chest.”
“Sounds like someone’s deflecting. Didn’t I get in trouble for doing that last night?”
He laughs lightly, making his chest vibrate. “I believe you were rewarded for that.”
“Tomato, tomahto.” I move myself so my head and hands are on his stomach, looking up at him. “Spill it, Bronson. What’s on your chest other than this sexy-as-hell scar?”
He lifts a brow. “You think it’s sexy?”
“Deflecting again.”
He sighs and lays a hand on my head, stroking my hair.
See, he loves to touch me.
“Mostly, I feel heroic. I took a fucking bullet to save strangers in a convenience store, unarmed, and attacked the son of a bitch with my bare hands. Not only did I take a bullet to the chest, but I survived and came back like a bull. The doctors, nurses … no one could get over my recovery. I know what happened was a big deal. What never gets mentioned was when I took the gun from his hands, I shot him back, and then I lay there to die. It took seven minutes for the ambulance to get there, but I swear it felt like seven lifetimes. Heaven, hell, I should haves, and promises to God. It can fuck with your head if you dwell on it too much. I don’t want to be the guy who always thinks about how he almost died. I want to be the one who lives. I want to make love to a beautiful woman, and then I want to make her brunch because after she fell asleep, I had to put my Bolognese, uneaten, in the refrigerator. I also happen to make killer waffles, and I love an egg white omelet.”
His ultimate deflection is something I should scold him on, but I won’t because, as he said, he’d rather talk about living than dying, and I get that. Plus, he just spoke some pretty sexy words to me that cannot go unnoticed.
“You brunch?” I actually bite my lip because the thought of William and I naked, brunching in his bed, sounds amazing.Okay, he didn’t mention the bed or nakedness, but I’m sure it was implied.
