Page 68 of Last Man Standing

He peers down at a small white China cup balanced on his thigh, then across to the paneled section beside his desk. “There’s a machine over there.”

“Oh… Well…” Thank the good lord! “I didn’t know. But thanks.”

“Speak to anyone while you were gone?”

Just my executioner. No big deal. “Uh-huh.” I wander across the room and stop at the end of the bed. Fingering the soft fabric of last night’s sweater, I pick it up, then my jeans, and take a whiff of both. They stink of gas station funk and sitting-in-the-truck-all-day musk. But they’re clothes, and I’m not sure I’ll survive another minute of Sebastion’s gaze dropping to my bare legs. “Your, uh…” I ball them in my arms and nibble on my bottom lip. “Your dad came in while I was making coffee.”

“Really? What’d he say?”

“That of all the mugs in the kitchen, I chose the one I really shouldn’t have.” The ink right in the center of his chest calls for me to ask questions, the woman he had drawn there stares into my eyes, but instead of asking them, I turn on my heels and head toward the bathroom. “Been awake long?”

“Mmhm.” He brings his cup higher in my peripherals, sipping from the delicate China like he’s not seven whole feet of swollen muscle and thick fingers holding a teeny tiny little handle. “A few minutes. I sent someone out to get your suitcase. If you wanna wait just a little longer, you can put something fresh on.”

I’ll put these on for now, and fresh clothes once they arrive.

Entering the dark-tiled bathroom and spotting the messy blanket still in the crisp white tub, I toss my jeans and sweater onto the counter, then strip the hoodie off and leave it on the floor. I consider taking a shower. I could buy myself an hour, or a lifetime, boiling my skin red, but the thought of sliding into dirty clothes immediately after makes the decision easy. I whip my jeans out straight and tangle my legs in the denim as I move quickly, because if he was comfortable enough to carry my underwear-less sleeping body to his bed in the middle of the night, then I doubt he’d take issue with walking in here while I was naked, too.

“Why’d you put me in the bed?” Fastening the button on my jeans and tearing the zipper up, I snatch my sweater and tug the sleeves out the right way. “I was happy where I was, and I didn’t give you permission to move me.”

I’m met with silence. With the thump of my pulse in my ears. “Sebastion?”

“Yeah, Princess?”

I squeal and spin and tear my sweater down to cover my belly as I go, then I meet his playful eyes and that taunting smirk that hurtles me closer to insanity. He relaxes in the doorway, shirtless, disgustingly sexy, one muscular arm lifted to the frame, while the other hangs by his thigh—right beside my suitcase.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Smug, he merely taps my case with his foot and sends the whole thing rolling halfway across the bathroom. “I told you to wait a sec. You got ink on your spine, Princess? I never would’ve picked you for it.”

“How could you possibly know when you never had my permission to look?” I stomp across the room and whip my suitcase over until it lands on its back. Lowering into a crouch and tearing the zipper open, I search its contents for fresh underwear. Because wearing jeans without panties might land me officially on the other side of safe for society. “You knew I was getting changed.”

“Uh-huh.”

That’s all he says. That’s all he cares to express.

He knew, and he violated my privacy anyway.

“You didn’t have permission to move me to the bed, either.” I snatch out a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, form-fitting top that wouldn’t be nearly warm enough for outside. But I don’t intend to go there anyway. “Willfully violating another person’s privacy and autonomy is a despicable personality trait.”

“Eh. I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. You call it a violation, I call it looking at something pretty. Besides, who says you didn’t sleepwalk to the bed? Bathtubs are cold and uncomfortable, so it’s entirely possible your subconscious did what your stubborn consciousness wouldn’t allow.”

“Did I?” I snatch out a pair of underwear, and then a bra. Shoving to my feet and slamming my fresh clothes onto the counter, I swing my gaze back around and glare in response to Sebastion’s playfulness. “Did I sleepwalk, Boot?”

Chuckling, he shakes his head gently from side to side. “Nah. I moved you. Might’ve copped a feel while I was at it, too.”

I sneer. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you get awfully clingy while you’re asleep. I might’ve picked you up, but you’re the one who threw your arms around my neck and snuggled in.”

Hot pink humiliation stains my cheeks.

I didn’t!

Did I?

“I put you on the bed and unraveled your arms, but little miss Fancy Pants over there—” Me. Oh, God, he means me. “You went ahead and curled closer, like maybe you wanted to be my big spoon.”

“Stop it.” I stride forward and slam my hands against his chest. But he’s just too damn big, too heavy to move if he doesn’t want to be moved. “Leave. Now.”