Chapter 12
Reese
I made a quick detour to my room, deciding I’d rather not sleep in my blazer tonight, swapping into a matching pajama set instead.
And no, the matching set has nothing to do with the fact that I’m going to be sleeping in Emmett’s bed tonight. I wear a pajama set every night, whether someone is going to see me in it or not.
The chill in my room hasn’t let up and the silk fabric on my sleepwear has only made it worse, so I grab the spare blanket off the bed and wrap it around me like a cape for the short walk down to Emmett’s room.
But the blanket is also freezing just from being folded on the bed directly under the AC unit, so it does absolutely nothing to help the bone-chilling cold that I can’t seem to shake from my body.
“Cute slippers,” Emmett says from down the hallway, leaning a shoulder into his door to keep it slightly cracked.
“Get fucked.”
He bursts a laugh and it’s just about the only sound I don’t seem to hate at three in the morning.
I don’t do well without sleep. In fact, I’m kind of a terror without it. And yeah, maybe that makes me high maintenance, but I don’t see anything wrong with being high maintenance when I’m the one taking care of the maintaining.
I pay to get my nails done every two weeks. I pay to get my hair cut and colored every six. And yes, I require eight hours of sleep every night. If those things make me high maintenance, then fuck it. I love being high maintenance.
Emmett steps into his room as I approach, holding the door open for me to enter too.
Once I’m inside, the first thing I notice is the change in temperature from my own. It’s distinctively warmer, thank God.
Then I note the lack of light. His room is dim, with only the glow from a single lamp on the nightstand to illuminate a path toward the bed.
It gives off an . . . intimate vibe, but I really wish it wouldn’t.
His bed is unmade. His reading glasses are on the nightstand. His suitcase is propped up on a stand, unzipped and open, giving me a sneak peek of the clothes I might see him in this week.
But as his boss, I should never know what he packed in his suitcase. I should never see his unmade bed or know which side he prefers to sleep on.
I would catch so much heat from my grandfather, the advisory board, and the press if anyone found out that I slept in my employee’s hotel room.
In my employee’s bed.
“Do you want me to take the floor?” Emmett asks, startling me out of my daze.
Yes. “Yes” is the only correct answer.
“No,” is what comes out instead. “Don’t you think you’re a little old to be sleeping on the floor?”
“Damn right, I am.” He ambles right over to his side of the bed.
Okay. We’re doing this. We’re really doing this.
I’m not sure what other response I was hoping for. Maybe I was looking for more of a fight. Maybe I assumed he’d insist he sleep anywhere else but next to me. Maybe I was hoping one of us would have just a bit of willpower.
I stay stuck in the entryway, still shivering from my cold pajamas, my cold blanket and being back in my cold room for only a few minutes. But then I feel the first warm flush to my skin I’ve experienced all night.
Because standing next to the bed, Emmett reaches over his head and pulls off his shirt in a single, fluid motion.
And fuck me, he’s delicious to look at. Tall and wide with bulky shoulders and inked arms. His chest is splattered with dark hair.
His body narrows at the waist, but he’s not so cut that you can see the complete outline of each and every one of his ab muscles.
Instead, he’s thick and muscular, including those thighs that are practically eating the athletic shorts stretched around them.
I’ve already seen him with his shirt off, already have the image ingrained in my memory, so this is nothing new. But I’ve never seen Emmett take his shirt off just before I’m about to crawl into bed with him.
“You could . . . keep that on,” I croak out.
He lifts an unimpressed brow in my direction. “I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”
Emmett makes a move to tug at the waistband of his shorts as if it were instinct for him to remove them before bed. Which means he probably sleeps naked or, at the very least, in only his underwear.
Which, again, I shouldn’t know.
It takes him less than a second to realize his mistake, before adjusting his waistband back low on his hips to keep his shorts on.
Then he climbs into bed, pushing the sheets and comforter off his heated body, and with his long legs spread out and one arm folded behind his head, he finds me still stuck near the entryway.
“C’mon, princess.” He pats the mattress next to him. “I want to get some sleep.”
I don’t tend to get nervous, but this is making me nervous. He’s making me nervous. He shouldn’t look so good when he’s so tired, and I shouldn’t be crawling into bed next to him.
Removing my slippers and keeping my blanket-cape on, I climb onto the mattress and very quickly realize that this is a queen bed and not a king by the way I can feel his body heat as soon as I lie down.
It’s lovely, but he’s already too close.
Once my head hits the pillow, Emmett turns off the light, coating the room in darkness.
I can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything either, other than the slight chatter of my own teeth. Every muscle in my body is firing, doing its best to warm itself up. Lying on my side, facing away from him, I pull my knees to my chest, trying to find as much warmth as possible.
“You’re still cold?” he asks quietly from behind me.
“Freezing.”
“Take that blanket off. It’s only making you colder.”
“I just need some time to warm up and I’ll be fine.”
There’s a moment of silence. A moment where I think he’s let it go, but then he whispers something highly inappropriate into the otherwise silent room.
“I can warm you up.”
Looking over my shoulder, my eyes shoot to his, and I’ve adjusted enough to the lack of light to find him lying on his side, facing me.
Emmett tentatively reaches out, tucking my hair behind my ear before brushing his knuckles across my cheek so I can feel exactly how warm he is.
I practically purr as I lean into his touch.
“Lose the blanket, Reese, and come here.”
“Emmett.”
“Don’t be weird about it. Just come here. I’m not going to get any sleep if you’re over there squirming all night, trying to warm yourself up.”
I can’t. I shouldn’t.
There’s too much on the line.
This baseball club.
His career.
My career.
My reputation.
The fact that I’m the first ever female team owner and now I’m lying in a bed with my field manager.
But he is right about this blanket being too cold, so I decide to shed it to the floor by the mattress, and instead of moving closer to him, I reach down to the end of the bed where his sheet and comforter are shoved and pull them over me, all the way up to my chin.
He doesn’t say anything about it and neither do I.
This will do just fine . . . eventually.
Minutes pass and I do my best to warm myself up. In fact, I’m practically praying that my body will stop involuntarily shivering. That my teeth will stop chattering. That I’ll stop squirming on the mattress next to him.
When I can’t seem to do it myself, Emmett slips his arm under the sheet, draping it over my waist and sliding his hand between me and the mattress. Then he easily scoops me up, pulling me back to meet his chest.
And that swift and effortless movement just causes a whole lot of other inappropriate ideas to play in my imagination. Because just as I suspected, this man has no problem tossing me around when I’ve never had the privilege to be tossed around before.
The legs of my pants and the back of my top have ridden up, putting that small part of us skin to skin.
The warmth of his body on mine is almost painful thanks to the quick and sharp shift from cold to hot.
But that sting subsides when Emmett removes his arm and scoots back just an inch so that we’re no longer touching, but still close enough that I can steal his warmth.
Slowly, my muscles begin to uncoil themselves. My skin begins to calm.
“This okay?” he asks quietly, but his lips are so close to my ear that the rumble of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
Which is not too helpful on the whole “getting warm” thing.
I swallow. “Probably not.”
“Why not? We’re basically . . . hugging. Hugging is totally fine.”
“Yeah, we’re just hugging. In your bed. With my ass against your crotch.”
“Semantics.”
“Just . . . keep your dick away from me.”
I can hear the smile in his reply when he says, “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Emmett’s arm is awkwardly resting above the pillow where my head is before he adjusts it lower. And as if on instinct, I lift my cheek for him to put it under my head before resting it back on the inside of his bicep.
He sucks a sharp inhale at the contact.
“I know I’m cold but suck it up. You asked for this.”
His silent laugh rumbles the bed. “I’m burning up, so trust me. You feel good.”
You feel good.
All I can think about is how those words would sound coming from his lips in an entirely different setting. Does Emmett Montgomery praise women when he’s in bed, or does the grumbly bossy thing seep into that part of his life too?
Why am I hoping it’s a combination of both?
And what the actual fuck is wrong with me?
I haven’t been interested in anyone in years. In fact, I’ve practically sworn off men since my divorce, and suddenly the one man to snag my attention is one that’s currently on my payroll.
Real professional, Reese.
“Did you have a nice time with Miller?” I ask, because that’s a normal train of thought. Who goes from wondering how someone likes to fuck to asking whether that same someone enjoyed his time with his daughter?
I won’t be holding my breath for one of those World’s Greatest Boss mugs anytime soon.
“Yeah, it was nice,” he says softly. “I’m always stoked when I get the chance to see her while we’re on the road.”
“You two are close.”