Chapter 15
Morgan
I can list several reasons why I crawled out of bed this morning, wishing I'd made a different decision about returning to work in the middle of the week.
First, the trip to my house yesterday left me feeling more than a little off-kilter. I hate how easily Henry turned my home into a place I don't think I can ever return to without being terrified. I don't even know if him getting caught and arrested would ease my fear because now I know just how easily I can become a victim. I don't see myself ever dating again because any man I meet can end up being a psycho.
The second thing that made me toss and turn was the image of Robert getting out of the hot tub last night. I couldn't close my eyes for a second without the sight of water rushing off that fantastic chest of his coming to mind. Jesus, the man is a perfectly fit specimen. From the way his swim trunks clung to his body, it made me realize that Robert and his brother might be identical in many ways, but there's a vast difference between them in some areas.
I run my hands down the front of my dress as I clear the bottom of the stairs. I'm trying not to overthink why I chose something that covers me practically from head to toe, but I know it isn't offering me the security I felt like it would when I pulled it from the closet half an hour ago.
I wondered, probably more often than anyone should, how he would react if I snuck into his bed naked and ran my hands up his chest. I don't know that he'd deny me, but I also know that approaching him that way won't end the way I want. He's part of the team here, and although Twisted walked away yesterday without trying to push himself on me and convince me why he's a great catch, Kaylee's voice is also in my ear. I wouldn't pit Robert and Twisted against each other, but there's always a chance showing interest in one would cause problems with the other. Since I'm a guest here, I need to keep my dalliances away from this situation.
I convince myself that's exactly what I'm going to do as I head to the coffee pot and start putting it together.
A yawn draws my attention, and I swear the universe is doing everything in its power to drive me insane.
I watch as a sleep-mussed Robert walks into the kitchen with unfocused eyes. He rubs his naked chest before letting that massive hand of his trail downward to adjust his privates. His pajama pants are made of thin cotton, and much like his swim trunks last night, they don't leave much to the imagination. It feels like Christmas, my birthday, and New Year's all rolled into one.
I'm standing here watching as if the guy is putting on a show he willingly sold tickets to. Does he own a damn shirt? Not that I'm complaining, but it's going to be impossible to explain why my face is flushed if he asks.
"Shit," he says when his yawn is over, and he opens his eyes to find me standing there staring at him. "Sorry."
"I'm not," I manage before turning my attention back to the coffee pot.
As covert as I can manage, I literally run the back of my hand over my lips to make sure I'm not drooling because the guy is a perfect specimen of a man. His body, including those delicious strips of muscle at his hips, makes me insane. I've had my share of experiences with fit men, but I don't think I've ever allowed myself to fantasize about a man like him.
Had I seen Robert at the gym, walking around with one of those shirts that have so much of the sleeves cut away it looks like he's wearing a tank top, I would’ve scrunched my nose and found something better to do. Gym bros like that tend to watch themselves in the mirror more than contribute anything to those around them. I want a man who pays attention to me, not one who can't wait to see their own reflection.
Having gotten to know Robert better, I know for a fact that he's a funny, caring guy who has interests outside of how he looks without a shirt on.
"I didn't expect anyone to be up so early," he says, his voice raspy and still tinted with sleep.
Jesus, what would this man sound like while still in bed as he rolls over with a smile and tells the woman there with him good morning?
"I couldn't sleep," I confess, praying he doesn't ask me what's causing my restlessness because, with how fried my brain is right now, I just might tell him the truth. "Plus, I like to get to the office early. I hate being in a rush."
He gives me a gentle smile, and I struggle to keep my eyes on him rather than letting them drop lower than his chin. But I'll be damned if the man doesn't have a shadow of scruff on his jawline that makes my fingers itch with the need to touch him.
"Coffee?" I offer after pouring myself a cup and taking a step away from the machine.
"That doesn't have hardly enough caffeine to get me going," he says.
I pull in a too-hot sip of my drink to keep from offering a myriad of ways to wake him up. I swear this man makes my brain turn to nothing but sex. I consider the scorch on my tongue punishment for my inability to control my thoughts as I watch him step toward the fridge, the muscles in his back bunching and flexing as he moves.
"What do you want me to wear to your funeral?" I ask when he turns back around with a massive energy drink in his hand.
He looks down at the can, his smile weak. Then, as if considering the question, his eyes trail my body. I get the sense that it doesn't matter that I'm wearing a dress with sleeves down to my forearms and the hem sweeping the floor. It's as if he can see me in exactly what he's imagining, and I swear the front of his pajama pants begins to get tighter.
"Nothing," he whispers.
"Nothing?" I ask, wanting to get fully on board with that. Hell, forget work if there's something else I could be doing to keep my hands, mouth, and the rest of my body busy.
He shakes his head. "There will be no funeral."
I don't know whether to be disappointed or confused.
My lips fall open, need swimming inside of me, but before I can take a step in, a throat clears from across the room.
Roberts spins, putting his back toward the newcomer.
"You ready to head to work?" Bandera asks as he gives me that flat smile he always throws my way. I don't know if the man dislikes me or if he sees me as a nuisance, but either way, I get the distinct feeling that he isn't impressed with me in the slightest.
"I'm ready," I say, holding up the travel mug I prepared my coffee in. "If I promise to bring this back, is it okay to take it with me?"
Bandera shrugs. "It's not mine. You'll have to ask Rooster. He drinks out of it every afternoon."
"Shit," I mutter, walking toward the cabinet to grab a different cup.
"Take it with you," Robert says. "It's fine."
"You're sure?" I ask, my eyes finding his.
His gaze dips to my mouth before he nods. "Have a good day at work, Morgan. See you this evening."
I watch as he walks away, his promise hanging in the air.
***
"It's understandable if you're nervous," Bandera says when he pulls into the parking garage of my office building. "If you don't want to go inside, I can take you right back home."
I want to argue that where I've been staying isn't my home, but it just seems like splitting hairs more than anything else right now. Even in my head, I can't picture my house as being my home any longer. Home is where you want to relax and recharge at the end of the day. The idea of my house just makes my skin crawl with fear and uncertainty.
"I have to work," I say, pulling a deep breath.
"I understand," he replies, and I can hear the honesty in his tone. "I'll be out here all day. If you need me, I'm right here. You have my number. Shoot me a text before you leave the building, and I'll pull around to pick you up right off the elevator."
I dip my head. "Thank you for helping me."
I climb out of the SUV. I never thought there would be a day when I was in a position to have an escort wherever I go. As I walk toward the elevator and look over my shoulder back at his SUV, it doesn't feel as glamorous as I imagined when I watched celebrities being chauffeured around town.
Vegas is no stranger to the rich and famous. With the way people think they can just run up and put themselves in people's personal space, bodyguards and security are a must, especially in a town that all but pours alcohol and drugs down people's throats. Because leaving Vegas with more than they arrived with is never the goal.
I keep my eyes locked on him after I step onto the elevator, and my heart races even harder when the doors close me inside.
I look around the familiar box, my eyes landing on the camera in the corner. As I ride up, I convince myself that Robert is watching me and will dispatch a slew of commandos if something goes wrong today. But when the doors open on my floor, all I want to do is close them back and ride right back down to the waiting SUV.
I know I'm going to have to take this step eventually. I can't hide out forever. Hell, bills won't get paid if I use up all of my vacation days and continue to stay out of work. I know that the longer I wait to take this step, the harder it's going to be.
I step off the elevator, dipping my head to acknowledge several coworkers as I walk toward my desk. I'm not overly social at work. The cliques that form in an office aren't really something I want to get in the middle of. I learned early on, after starting here, that a person could be smiling and joking with you before lunch, and then that same person would spread rumors about you by the early afternoon. I want no part of it. As such, I've become sort of an office hermit, although I'm cordial with everyone. I exist around others, but the interactions have always been minimal.
I find my entertainment outside of work and spend time with people I don't have to stare at all damn day. It was only courtesy to extend an invite to others in the office for the party I just had, and as I look around and see several people looking in my direction, I realize how big of a mistake that had been.
I never considered the aftermath of a group of military-dressed commandos with massive rifles running through my house and making everyone vacate during the middle of my party. Of course, no one has bothered to text me with questions or even ask if I'm okay, but I can tell by a couple of whispers that I won't make it through the day without being approached by at least one person wanting answers.
I place my travel mug of coffee on my desk, stow my purse in the drawer, and sit at my computer, wiggling the mouse to wake my system up. My double-screen setup seems so amateur compared to Robert's, and the thought makes me smile.
I will not think about how talented his fingers are over a keyboard.
I pull in a deep breath and open the program I need for work today before pulling up my task list.
My eyes dart toward the cup of coffee, and as I lift it and bring it to my lips, I picture Robert taking a drink from this very cup. Just the idea of my lips being where his have been makes me shift in my chair. This is going to be one of the longest days of my life.
I spend more time than I'm proud of with the lip of the cup against my mouth as I picture him in my mind.
Wear nothing to his funeral. He corrected himself quickly, but I don't think that when the word slipped from his mouth, that it was his intention.
I swear I'm normally better at reading guys, but with Robert, I just can't tell if he's interested in me at all. His body's reaction earlier could've been more biology than anything else. I'd be a fool to think it was completely about me.
Knowing that doesn't stop me from analyzing every single interaction we've had while I work.