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“You don’t expect me to sleep in this, do you?” I present my skintight romper, but suspiciously he cuts his gaze off me as he sits on the sofa positioned on the other side of the room.
Yeah. I didn’t think so.
I find his t-shirts in the next drawer, pull out a plain black one, and repeat my question. “What kind of bird is it?”
“Budgie.”
“And its name is…”
He mutters, “Bugsy.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. “Really? He looks more like an Oreo to me.”
“Do you have an obsession with giving pets food names?”
“More of a sadistic compulsion, actually.” I head into the bathroom again to change, then step out in his oversize t-shirt. He won’t look at me. Not even when I clear my throat.
What a gentleman.
I say, “You know, when I mentioned spending the night, I meant in a room of my own.”
“I would hope so.”
Crossing the dark flooring, I dip myself into his field of vision. “There’s no need to be shy. You can tell me you want me here.”
“I don’t trust you enough to not keep an eye on you.”
“Your eyes are closed, pet.”
“The neck of the t-shirt you stole is large, princess.”
I glance down at the gaping chasm. That it is.
Laughing, I sit beside him, smoothing the hem halfway down my thighs. “Your manners put upstanding citizens to shame.”
“Do they?” He lowers his hand when he opens his eyes, and Bugsy decides his finger is no longer a suitable location to sit. The little bird’s wings beat, carrying it back to a perch in its cage.
“They do,” I confirm.
He monitors me out of the corner of his eye, exhaustion pouring off him in waves. Every one of his shallow breaths seems like it could carry him to slumber in the very next moment. Maybe…maybe I’ve teased him enough for one night.
My lips part. “Thank you.”
His brow arches. “For having a modicum of basic human decency?”
My smile broadens, and I shake my head. Leaning toward him, I touch a kiss to his cheek. “For helping me. I know I’m a lot to handle. It’s on purpose.” I yawn. “You can tell a lot about a person if you can get them angry.”
“You haven’t seen me angry.”
“Really?” Lying down, I cuddle one of the couch pillows. “Pity. I’ll try again tomorrow, I guess. Good night, pet.”
With a sigh, Rowan stands. In the next moment, I’m weightless, one strong arm beneath my knees, the other braced behind my back. He carries me to his bed and sets me down on the comforter in a puddle of bedding that smells like him.
Undeniably masculine.
His fingers comb through my hair, pulling the strands off my cheek and tucking them behind my ear. “It’s already tomorrow,” he informs, looking exhausted, perturbed, distressed…and yet somehow powerfully gentle.
Treating me with all the caution he has when he shaves.
