Page 27 of Safe Place

She studies me for a second, then sets the notebook down.

“So,” I say, casually leaning on the counter, “Do I make an appearance in your non-judgy notebook?”

Her cheeks flush, and she quickly shakes her head. “No.”

But she’s definitely lying. And I’m definitely smiling.

She leans back slightly and smiles at me. “Okay, speaking of this place—Do I get a tour, or is that a secret VIP-only privilege?”

I raise a brow. “You’re VIP.”

“As I should be.”

“As you should,” I say, standing and stretching slightly. “Come on.”

I guide her toward the guest room first, nudging the door open with my shoulder. “This is the extra bedroom. Mostly for Wyatt or Grant when they’re too lazy—or too drunk—to make it down to their own place.”

“Wow.” Her eyes sweep the space, landing on the bed. “That bed looks insanely comfortable. I should’ve napped in here.”

I lean against the doorframe. “It better be. That mattress costs as much as my first car. Fair warning though—Grant denies it, but I’m almost positive he brought someone or someones in here while I was out of town this summer.”

She scrunches her nose in the cutest way. “Gross. Never mind, then.”

I show her the study, then the guest bathroom off the living room, and finally stop outside my bedroom. I pause for a second before pushing open the door.

“And this—is mine,” I say. “Not much to see. I like having zero distractions in here.”

She steps inside without hesitation, and I’m surprised by how okay I am with it. I don’t usually let people in here. But there’s something easy about Sophie’s presence—like she’s not invading the space, but simply filling it.

“Oh my God, you have your own bathroom in here?” she says like she’s discovered treasure.

“Yeah. Grant’s never allowed in this one. That guy could ruin a spa with a ten-minute shower.”

She’s already wandered deeper into the room, her hands now brushing over the soft throw at the end of the bed, and eyes wide. I should be tense, but I’m not. I like seeing her here. Maybe more than I should.

“Go ahead,” I say, sounding more eager than I should. “Try the bed. It’s better than the couch. Careful though—it might ruin you for every mattress after.”

She doesn’t hesitate. She flops onto it, arms outstretched with a happy sigh. Her sweatshirt rides up slightly, revealing a strip of pale skin along her waist. I catch a glimpse of her stomach—soft, smooth, her hipbones peeking just above the waistband of her jeans. My throat tightens for a second.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs. “This is heaven.” Then she lets out a soft, drawn-out moan. And I swear—my body reacts before I can shut it down.

“Sleep is very important to me.” I shift, adjusting my stance against the doorframe, trying not to stare as she wiggles deeper into the blankets. Her hair fans out over the pillow, her lashes fluttering as she blinks up at the ceiling.

She looks peaceful. Comfortable. Like she belongs here.

And for a moment, I don’t just feel protective of her. I feel something else. Something more dangerous. I want to kiss her. I want to crawl onto that bed and touch every inch of her. Not that I ever would—Jesus. I’d never risk making her uncomfortable. But that doesn’t stop the thoughts. Or the ache low in my gut from just seeing her like this.

“I bet no girl tries to sneak out after a night in this bed,” she says casually, still lounging.

I raise an eyebrow. “Bold assumption.”

She props herself up on her elbows and grins. “I mean, I wouldn’t. I’d probably fight to stay. For the bed, of course.”

I smirk. “Trust me. It’s not the bed that's going to make you stay.”

I wink at her before I can stop myself.

She rolls her eyes, still smiling, but there’s something unreadable in her expression now.