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So why, then, didn’t I get up? Walk away.
Why did I want to lie here and stay? With Dawson?
“Stop angsting and go back to sleep.”
The sudden interruption of Dawson’s deep voice had goosebumps popping up all over my skin.
Normally, him telling me what to do would result in me telling him to fuck off, or some variation, and then doing the opposite.
So why did I get a primal thrill when he did it here and now?
Being in his bed made me realize there might be some orders I wouldn’t mind taking. Preferably when the two of us were naked.
I placed my head back on his chest and listened to the soothing sound of his steady breathing, matching my own. Since I was used to being independent, it was strange for me to take comfort in anyone else.
I closed my eyes again, and the next time I opened them, it was bright in the room.
But I was alone.
Well, not quite. I pushed the heavy curtain of my hair out of my face and looked around, spotting Dawson sitting on the nearby couch, his phone plastered to his ear. In his usual black jeans and T-shirt, his red hair wet, he was barking orders into the phone.
“Did you run that security check? Make it a priority. They’re not getting any backstage passes until they pass the screening, and they keep texting me.”
Pulling the sheet up around me, I inhaled Dawson’s spicy scent, and fucking hell, my morning wood was so hard, it was damn near painful.
I sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, then grabbed Dawson’s pillow and placed it over my lap, willing my cock to calm down.
“I gotta go,” Dawson declared as our eyes met.
He placed his phone on the table in front of him.
Then he stood up and stalked over to me, his eyes running down my covered body in a gaze so heated I’m surprised the sheets didn’t ignite.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed near my feet. “There’s water and meds on the table.”
“I’m fine,” I replied, my voice hoarse with sleep. “A bit dehydrated, but surprisingly, no headache.”
Suddenly, I was nervous and awkward like I never was.
What do I say to the man I couldn’t stop thinking about, the one who held me all night long but didn’t make a move?
What in the ever-loving hell was going on?
“I ordered room service, and it should be arriving shortly. Same order as last time; I hope that’s okay?”
I nodded and reached for the glass of water, sipping it slowly to ease the enormous lump in my throat.
“So, are we going to make stilted morning chit-chat or talk about what happened last night?” I finally asked.
Dawson chuckled and shook his head. “I figured I’d let you shower and eat first. You need something to wear off that alcohol.”
“I didn’t have that much. I was still able to talk. And walk. Without falling down, I might add. I can tolerate a lot more than most people.”
“We’ll agree to disagree. It smells like a distillery in here.”
“That’s because I’m pretty sure I dropped a bottle. Somewhere.”
“You did, but luckily, it was almost empty, so there was hardly any spillage.”
