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“Good luck, cat,” he muttered.
The house was silent, and Livia had gone to bed.
Carver lay there for long minutes, hoping she came out for that late-night snack and they could meet in the kitchen like they had other nights.
An ache blossomed in the space in his chest that he knew she had begun to fill. After so many of his fellow SEALs perished in that attack, he hadn’t been whole—not at all. But protecting Livia gave him purpose again. Now if anyone threatened even a single cute red hair on her cute head, he would shoot first and ask questions later.
He sat up abruptly, sending the cat onto the floor. She gave him a dirty look before swishing away.
When he found himself standing at Livia’s bedroom door, he had no recollection of making that conscious decision. He opened the door and saw her sleeping on her side, facing away from him.
Running on gut instinct and a primal need to be close to the woman he was falling for fast, he crawled into bed behind her.
God, her body fit his perfectly. Anchoring an arm around her waist, he buried his nose in her hair and gave the woman what she needed.
Even if she didn’t know what was good for her, he did.
Chapter Eleven
The scent of fresh coffee permeated Livia’s senses, drawing her to the surface of her dream.
Her dream about Carver.
She inwardly groaned—she couldn’t even keep the man from visiting her unconscious mind.
With her eyes still closed in sleep, she froze.
Wait. A. Minute.
Had she imagined turning over in the night to find a big, strong arm anchored around her waist? And a pair of steely thighs behind hers?
What about that stiff rod that rode along her backside?
Unless she dreamed those things, the man had shared her bed last night.
She opened her eyes and blinked at her surroundings. Carver wasn’t standing right in front of her and when she rolled onto her back, she didn’t see him anywhere in the room.
Just then, he pushed the door open and walked in carrying a mug of steaming coffee.
His gaze fell on her. “You’re up.”
She already knew she looked a mess. She couldn’t win any awards for beauty when she first woke up. Yet the expression in his eyes sent a trickle of warmth through her belly.
She cast around for something to say. Morning conversation with a lover was not something she was practiced at.
“The smell of coffee woke me.”
He crossed the room in a few long strides and placed the mug in her hands. Their fingers brushed in the transfer, lifting a memory of him touching her as she slept. Of one hand always resting on her.
He moved to the window and swished the curtain back, filling the room with early morning sunlight. The sky was streaked with the pink of sunrise.
“This is a good start with the coffee.” She took a sip of the delicious brew. “But why are we up so early?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
She lowered her mug. “What kind of surprise?”
Did she even like surprises? She couldn’t remember ever having a good one, only bad.
