Chapter 27
Bailey
I wake up in Rhett’s bed, and even though I can feel the sun pouring in through the window, I don’t want to open my eyes yet.
I let my other senses take over, sliding my hand over to his side of the bed, smelling his bare, morning skin, the weight of the mattress bowing beneath him, and the taste of him still on my lips. I didn’t dream any of it.
Instead of my book ruining everything, or embarrassing me like I was afraid it might, it opened the door to the most beautifully intense moment, possibly of my whole life.
His fingers lace through mine, and he pulls my hand over his stomach, pressing me to his side. I fit so perfectly against him, which I’ll take as a sign that I was always supposed to be here.
No mirror above the bed this time, just worn, wooden beams laced across the ceiling, like the hand-pieced lattice of a pie.
“This is way better than waking up in that motel,” he mutters, dragging his fingertips up and down my arm.
I smile. “And the kitchen counter,” I add, watching him laugh.
He kisses the crown of my head. “I was afraid it might have all been a dream after my head was filled up with everything you wrote.”
“I could say the same,” I tell him. His heart beats beneath my ear, steadily and unrushed, like he’s already grown used to the idea of me being right beside him. And I love that.
The lake sparkles in the late-morning sun outside the window, looking like it always has, but somehow better. Like the magic has just flown back in.
“You feel good about this?” he asks. His voice has a new, sexy morning roughness going on that I’ve never gotten to hear before.
“I feel better than good,” I tell him, snuggling closer. “I could wake up like this every day.”
“Do you mean that?” he asks.
“Couldn’t you?” I lean up on an elbow to watch his face. His stubble is even darker than yesterday, and his skin has grown impossibly tan since we got here, making the blue of his eyes pop even more.
“No,” he says, staring out the window.
I frown. “No?” I repeat, trying not to let my stomach spiral until I know what he means.
“I’ve been up for a little bit thinking about it, and . . .” He pauses to watch my reaction, pushing my hair back before going on. “And I think I want more than this.”
I smile, but I’m not sure what he means.
“Go on,” I coax. “What do you mean by more?”
“I want to wake up and bring you coffee without thinking about anything else other than the way you look first thing in the morning,” he says, his voice thick.
My smile widens. “I like that answer. And I do, too,” I tell him. “What else?”
“I want a career that won’t fry your nerves,” he says. “You’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime. Hell, I’ve had enough of that. Running security has an aspect of danger, no matter how tame most of the jobs turn out to be.”
The butterflies in me take flight as another piece inside my body, something that’s been tightened and re-tightened over the last ten years while worrying about his safety, unwinds.
“I like these words you’re saying,” I tell him, smiling.
His eyes fall into mine, just two blue pools swimming in the light from the window.
“And I want you,” he tells me, leaning down for a kiss.
“I like those words the most,” I say, questioning whether I’ve ever felt happier. “I want you, too. And I want everything you’ve said just as much.”
“I want to take you fishing on that old boat, every day, just like that couple we saw when we first got here. Or dancing at the end of the day.”
I smile. “Dancing? Savannah mentioned her brother’s bar in town still does those country swing nights our parents used to go to. We could—”
“I mean, with a noisy, old record spinning on the player, and that stub of a candle downstairs still burning right beside it. Just you and me.”
I close my eyes for a moment to picture it.
“Who knew you were so good at dirty talk?” I mumble, and he lets out a laugh.
I squint with one eye open, grinning up at him, then lie back down on his chest. Wanting to join him inside the dream he’s painting.
Picturing every bit of it in my head right along with him.
“But, I’ll take it,” I whisper. “I’ll take every bit of it. ”
“I like how quiet it is here,” he says, slowly raking his fingers through my hair. It feels like heaven on my scalp. “The trees, the water. It’s the closest thing I’ve felt to normal in a long time. You forget, when you live in a big city, just how much you need this.”
“I agree,” I tell him. “I’m already feeling a bit antsy at the idea of having to leave again at some point.” Hollis has been rescheduling appearances for my tour outside of New York next month, with the hope of this guy being out of the picture by then.
“Actually, I’ve . . .” He pauses to take another breath.
“I’ve been picturing what it might be like to not leave.
Maybe I could just stay at my parents’ cabin for a bit.
Fix it up while we’re here. Both of these places need a ton of work.
I’m not as handy as Ax, but I could figure it all out, I bet.
I saved everything I earned from when I was in the SEALs.
” He chuckles, like it’s funny. “Considering my absolute lack of a social life when I got back, it was fairly easy.”
I sit up. “Are you hoping for company while you fix these places up? Or does quiet to you mean alone?”
“Could you picture it?” he asks, his eyes search inside mine.
“Staying longer?” I can already see us staying here for a couple of extra weeks — fishing, reading, trolling around with no real place to be.
“Yeah, I can,” I tell him. “I have another manuscript due to my publisher in eight months. Considering what happened back home, the only way I can even think about writing it is if I picture myself doing it away from everything.”
“Calms the nerves,” he says, smiling back. “We just need this guy to blink first.”
“Or hide out forever,” I tell him. “But first—” I break off to yawn.
He laughs. “But first, coffee,” he finishes, then he pulls the covers off his side and starts to sit up. “I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, no,” I tell him, pressing my hand to his chest, pushing him back down. “You forgot a very important rule.”
“About coffee?”
“About not allowing me out of your sight. You said so last night.”
His eyes dance. “You’d like to come make coffee with me?” he asks.
“Oh, I only take my coffee after I take my shower,” I tell him. “It’s one of my rules. And we can’t be breaking either one of our very important rules first thing in the morning, can we?”
“So many rules,” he muses, leaning back in for another kiss.
“And so little time,” I finish, lowering my voice. Then I slide off the bed before crossing the room toward the shower, looking back over my shoulder, grinning at him to follow.