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I bob my head in understanding, tears of gratitude welling in my eyes. No, I'm not afraid of this man. How can I be? He's fought harder for my niece in one day than anyone else has all week. I barely know him, but in this moment, a little piece of my heart falls into his hands.
I lean forward and press my lips to his before quickly pulling back.
"Thank you," I whisper, roughly clearing my throat. "For fighting for her."
He thumbs my tears away, bumping his forehead against mine. "You should know, I'm not just fighting for Scout. I'm fighting for you too. As soon as she's out of the woods, I'm going to make you fall in love with me, Samara Lansing."
I don't tell him that I think I might already be falling.
"You can't boss me into falling for you, Tate," I say instead, rolling my eyes.
"I'm not going to boss you." He picks me up again, smirking. "I'm going to spoil you with this dick until you forget other men exist. But keep rolling those eyes at me and I'll be spanking that pretty ass as soon as I finish this surgery."
"I will smother you with a pillow."
"No, you won't." He carries me to the head of the bed and pulls the covers back before depositing me beneath them. "Then you won't have anyone to cuddle with tonight." He drops a kiss on my forehead before pulling the covers up over me. "Rest, Sleeping Beauty. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"You're sleeping on the couch," I mumble, burrowing into the blankets.
"Uh, fuck no," he growls. "I'm sleeping with one hand on my pussy, and the other over one of those sexy tits. You can be mad about it tomorrow."
His pussy? Oh, lord. Why is that so sexy?
"Dream of me, Sleeping Beauty," he orders on his way out the door.
"Good luck, Tate," I whisper.
"Keep wiggling like that and you'll be finishing what you started last night, angel," Tate drawls from behind me, his voice gritty from sleep.
I freeze mid-wiggle, my stomach clenching.
His soft chuckle sends pieces of hair dancing along my neck. My skin turns to gooseflesh, my core igniting. God, he sounds even better when he first wakes up than he does the rest of the time, which is saying something because the man sounds like he could run his own phone-sex line.
His hand around my waist tightens, dragging me back toward him.
"You snore," he murmurs, nuzzling his face into the back of my neck.
"I do not," I gasp.
"You do. It's the cutest sound I've ever heard."
"I do not snore."
"You talk too."
"Do not," I whisper, praying I didn't say anything horribly embarrassing.
"What, exactly, is sex on legs?" he asks, sending that hope up in a puff of smoke.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I sniff, deciding to play ignorant instead of answering that question. Maybe if I don't encourage him, he won't tell me what I said and I can live in blissful ignorance for the rest of my life. It's better than squirming in shame for the rest of eternity. "I don't talk in my sleep, and I've never heard that saying before in my life."
"Liar," he says, his deep chuckle vibrating against my back. "I bet next you're going to tell me you weren't moaning my name and begging me to kiss you."
I gasp and flip over to face him. "I was not!"
His cocky smirk says it all. I was moaning his name in my sleep. And begging him to kiss me. Oh my gosh. I should have slept on the couch! But as soon as he turned out the light, I was asleep. I never even heard him come in last night.
"You're evil and I don't like you," I mutter, glaring at him.
