Page 20 of I Wish You Were Mine

If not for me, then for my parents.

I make it to ten thirty before I need toothpicks to keep my eyes open.

I haven’t made nearly enough progress, and I still have several more chapters I need to review before I can go to bed. Oh, I’m also supposed to finish that damn paper.

Caffeine. I need it, stat.

But a quick inventory of my kitchen yields a coffee maker but no coffee. Making a mental note to run to the Maritime Market grocery store tomorrow, I grab my phone and head for the house, not bothering to put on shoes.

The air outside is still warm and humid, the darkness so complete I can see every star when I glance at the slice of sky visible between the crofter and the house.

For a second my steps slow. It’s beautiful out here. What I wouldn’t give to be able to sit on the porch right now and stargaze.

But there’s work to do, and I want to be up early to help Katie get ready for her last week of camp. So I grab the spare key from its spot underneath a drain spout—Tuck texted me a picture of where he hides it—and scurry inside the house and up the stairs to the kitchen, careful to keep my footsteps quiet so I don’t wake anyone up.

The kitchen is silent. I’m grateful Tuck left on the light above the sink; it’s all the illumination I need to turn on his big fancy coffee machine. While the machine heats up, I set my phone on the counter and search for a mug. Going up onmy tiptoes, I find one in the upper lefthand cabinet beside the dishwasher.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I thought I was being robbed.”

My heart plunges into my stomach at the growl behind me. I spin around, pulse screaming, to see a hulking mass standing in the shadows.

It’s Tuck.

Correction: it’sshirtlessTuck, holding up a golf club. The thick, chiseled mass of his torso is on full display. Tattoos and tufts of dark blond hair everywhere. He’s wearing a pair of black athletic shorts and literally nothing else.

No underwear. Even in the shadows, I can see the outline of his dick through the thin fabric.

Holy shit, he’s huge.

I don’t realize I’ve dropped the mug until it shatters at my feet. The sound rattles my already precarious nervous system.

“Oh, God, I’m—Tuck, I’m so sorry, I was just—I was falling asleep studying, and I couldn’t find any coffee in my kitchen, and, um...”

My gaze moves up, up, as Tuck lowers the golf club and steps into the light. He towers over me, a glowering mass of heaving chest and green eyes.

That smoky, evergreen scent rises off his bare skin. I can feel the heat radiating off him.

He’s so gorgeous up close it makes my stomach hurt.

His eyes flick to my chest. I remember a beat too late that I’m wearing my threadbare T-shirt and no bra.

Also, my nipples are hard. A fact Tuck very much seems to notice, because a muscle in his jaw tics and his nostrils flare when he says, “Don’t move.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I hope I didn’t wake up Katie.”

“She slept through a hurricane. She’s fine. Don’t move, or you’ll cut your feet.”

He turns and disappears into the shadows again. I benddown and start picking up the larger pieces of the broken mug, placing them carefully in the curve of my palm.

“I told you not to move.”

I wave him away, pretending like he didn’t give me my second heart attack of the day. For such a huge guy, he can move really quietly when he wants to. Military training, maybe? “I’m going to help you clean up the mug I broke.”

“You’re going to get out of the way so you don’t get cut.” He gently nudges my hands aside with a broom. “I said don’t move.”

Ignoring him, I continue to pick up the pieces. “I’m sorry if I wokeyouup.”

“I was up.” He nudges me again. “Don’tmove, Maren.”

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