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Or at least, I tried to.
Just as I turned to get out on my side, an arm grasped my hip and pulled me back to him.
I let out a muffled cry of surprise and delight as Rowan tucked me into his warmth.
“Like the nightie, cupcake,” he murmured sleepily, running his hands along my bare thigh then upward, across the pink silk.
My body tingled with need.
“Thanks,” I whispered, breathy.
“It was a special kind of torture, coming back to bed and seeing you wearin’ it, fast asleep,” he rasped, nuzzling my neck.
More body tingles.
Actually, I was pretty sure my body turned to jelly then.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I grumbled.
His hand spanned the silk just underneath the swell of my breast. “I figured as much. But you needed the sleep.”
He was right. I had needed the sleep.
I was a routine girl. An early night girl.
Both my routines and early nights had been thrown out of whack since the moment Rowan entered the picture.
Not that I was complaining.
“You need your sleep too,” I informed him. “It’s much too early, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Haven’t had the pleasure of sleeping next to you. So, I definitely notice when you’re tryin’ to get out of bed.” He held me tighter, voice still thick with sleep.
My throat constricted as his hardness pressed into my back, showing me just how awake he was.
Though I thought that morning sex was something invented by Hollywood directors—because who really wanted sex when they first woke up, having not brushed their teeth or emptied their bladder—I was not averse to it. Even though I really would’ve liked minty fresh breath.
I broke out in chills as Rowan dropped soft kisses below my ear. “Could get used to wakin’ up to you every morning,” he said, inhaling. “And the way you fuckin’ smell.”
My spine prickled delightfully. He smelled pretty darn good himself. And even though I hadn’t been interested in sleepovers before, I found myself realizing it was because I’d never slept with the right man.
There was a rustling of a collar then the clinking of nails against the hardwood floor.
Rowan groaned against my neck. “Apparently, Maggie is already accustomed to your schedule.”
As if to agree, she put her two front paws on the bed, pushing herself up to say good morning.
It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.
“I’ll go down and let her out, start the coffee.” Rowan squeezed me once more before rolling out of bed.
I stared at his back, the pockmarks of scars on it, tracing the way the muscles moved as he did.
The urge to run my hands along every inch of his skin, press my lips against those scars and learn where they came from, hit me hard and quick.
I didn’t know where they came from. What he’d gone through to get them. I knew what he’d endured had been dark; I’d heard it in his voice last night. But there was so much unknown about the man I’d let into my life, into my bed.
And he didn’t know anything about me. We were still strangers, doing domestic tasks like letting the dog out and making coffee.
But it was far too early to be thinking about that. So instead, I watched them leave the room, Rowan with one long, lingering glance at me in bed that set my skin on fire. Then, once they went downstairs, I got myself in the shower so I could get ready for my day.
Rowan’s eyes had been on me since I came downstairs in my dress. And yes, I might’ve put it on for him.
It wasn’t really normal for me to wear a dress to work. Not unheard of since I dressed mostly based on my mood, and every woman should be able to wear a nice dress whenever the fuck she felt like it. But yes, this one might’ve been for Rowan’s benefit.
It was a Diane von Fürstenberg wrap, black with tiny little daisies all over it. It gave me great cleavage, skimmed my hourglass figure perfectly, and ended mid-calf.
I’d paired the dress with a pair of wedges that had straps going up my ankle.
I’d spent a little more time on my hair this morning, trying to make my messy bun look effortless and sexy. And everyone knew an effortless looking bun took about three times longer than normal. Then I’d pulled strands down to look casual around my face. I swiped on some tinted moisturizer that made my pale skin look glowy and blush high on my cheeks.
Yes, I’d dressed for Rowan. Sue me.
Rowan liked the dress.
He made that known with the look he gave me. And by the way he grabbed on to me the second I made it to the kitchen, kissing the absolute heck out of me.
Then he’d made it known by murmuring, “Fucking love the dress, baby.”
