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Who could sleep in this inferno?
He’d even sent Gertrude to the dog bed in the corner of his room. Normally he didn’t mind her sleeping at the foot of the bed, but she was a mini–space heater he didn’t need right now.
It was possible thinking about kissing Claire was at least partly responsible for his elevated body temperature, but mostly it was the thermostat setting.
Probably.
Honestly, though. He couldn’t stop his brain from replaying the scene over and over in his mind. So many things had flashed in her eyes in those minutes, and for a woman who spoke her mind so freely, there sure was a lot she kept hidden.
Here he’d thought he was the only one with secrets.
Claire coming home in a mood was nothing out of the ordinary. The fact that her anger was directed toward him wasn’t even uncommon. But the source of it all being how much she cared about him? Had been worried about him?
That was a damn revelation.
As was the split second of heat that followed, then the shocking feel of her lips against his. It had only taken a moment for his body to catch up, and Claire was the last person he’d leave with a half-assed kiss.
After what he witnessed on the porch with Merlin or whatever his name was, it was basically his duty to redeem men everywhere. Even if he could only give her part of what she was looking for in a man, turned out he was very, very interested in assisting in that particular department.
He’d done a pretty good job, too. She’d tried to play it off, but she’d been into it. Maybe after sleeping on it she’d be willing to revisit the topic of their friends-with-benefits scenario. Why wait until forty if the chemistry was there now?
Graham slept like shit and gave up around six. Gertrude had weaseled her way back onto the bed and had taken issue with his feet flailing around her spot, letting out several whines over the last hour.
“Sorry, girl,” he muttered and swung his legs over the edge. He had plans to go mountain biking with a few buddies today and needed to be out of the house by seven, anyway.
He threw on a pair of shorts and padded to the kitchen to make a strong pot of coffee, Gertrude on his heels. He’d just poured himself a steaming cup when he heard a low growl, and turned to find Claire hovering in the hallway.
He gently nudged Gertie with his toe and leaned down. “We don’t talk to her like that,” he murmured. She looked up at him with innocent eyes, and he sent up a prayer he never had daughters. The thought was swiftly followed by how ridiculous a notion that was.
Odds were low Graham would ever have kids of his own. Birth control was extremely high on his priority list and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.
Claire straightened her back and entered the kitchen, shooting his dog a dirty look before going straight to the fridge. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he said with a smile and a wink.
Her hand paused on the handle and she glared at him even as her cheeks flushed. “Don’t.”
“Don’t say good morning?”
“Not like that.”
Graham lifted his eyebrows and turned his back to her, smiling into his coffee cup. “We still on for tonight?”
“What?” she squeaked.
“We’re going out, remember? Reagan’s coming, too. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“I mean, if after last night you’ve changed your mind and just want to hang around at home, preferably in my bed, that’s cool, too.”
The fridge door slammed, and he turned to find Claire standing with a jug of orange juice in one hand, the other balled up and propped on her hip. “We’re definitely going out.”
He shrugged. “Your call.” He took a long sip of the dark, bold coffee. “I’m going out on the trails, but I’ll make sure I’m presentable by eight. Sound good?”
She rifled through the cabinet for a cup, feigning disinterest. “Sure.”
Grinning, Graham lifted his mug to her and went back to his room.
