Chapter 12 #2
My heart flutters. This is really happening.
He clears his throat. “The dress is incredible.”
The dress.
Not me.
He pulls out his phone and snaps a photo.
“Alex.” I raise my hand in protest, turning my head. “It’s late. I’m a mess.”
Gently, he grasps my wrist, lowering my arm. “You’re not.” Heat smolders in his eyes. He holds my gaze a beat before he steps back. “Tell me, Professor Wells”—he lifts his phone again—“what was it like meeting Evelyn Davera?”
I can’t help the immediate smile that takes over my face. Snap. “Alex,” I attempt to protest, but he’s not having it.
“Call me Evelyn,” he says in a high-pitched voice that sounds much more like a Muppet from Sesame Street than Evelyn Davera.
But it makes me grin like a fool just the same.
The camera clicks again. With that, I can’t resist playing into it.
I grasp the sides of the gown, lifting them like a Disney princess.
With each pose, Alex’s smile spreads. “My word,” he continues in his Evelyn voice, “you are breathtaking.” My heart stops, and I meet his gaze.
He snaps one last picture, then looks away.
“If you want, I can help you take it off now.” He pockets his cell. “I got some good pics.”
I nod, and he steps up behind me, carefully lifting the straps one at a time so I can slide my arms out.
Thank all that is holy I kept my tank top and jeans on.
He offers me his hand as I step out, and my entire body floods with warmth at the contact.
I try to shake the feeling as I help him guide the dress back into the bag, and together, we get it zipped up and securely stored.
Once it’s safely in the closet, Alex tells me he’s going to take that shower now. And after the bathroom door closes, I swear I hear him mutter, “A cold one.”
When Alex comes out of the bathroom, he’s back in the green sweater and jeans, except now, his hair is damp.
Deliciously damp. Curling at the ends, the same way it used to when he’d get sweaty playing soccer in high school.
My fingers twitch at my sides, longing to slide through the wet strands.
I try not to stare as he heads to his messenger bag.
He rifles around for a minute, then slips on a pair of black-framed glasses.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. I’ve never seen Alex in glasses. He never needed them growing up. The sight is enough to make my knees wobble.
I’ve always thought Clark Kent was hotter than Superman. Sure, Superman can fly, but Clark? Fuck. There’s nothing sexier than a man who does his research.
Alex crosses his arms. “Just say it.”
It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Say what?” I rasp.
“I look dorky.”
Oh, my god. He doesn’t know. I want to cross the space between us and wrap my arms around his neck. I want to nibble my way up his throat and slide my tongue along his hot skin until I reach the spot behind his ear. I want to make him so hot those glasses fog up.
I flex my jaw, releasing my bottom lip from its hold between my teeth. “Not dorky,” I say in a breathy whisper.
He eyes me skeptically, but then heads for the bed. “I’m beat.”
My heart skips optimistically as he peels back the sheets, but then sinks when he picks up a pillow and drops it on the floor.
“Alex, this bed is huge,” I say as he strides to the closet to get a spare blanket. “Seriously.”
“I don’t mind.” He tucks the beige throw under his arm as he snags a second pillow from the shelf. “I’ve slept in worse conditions.” He shrugs. “I can sleep pretty much anywhere now.”
“Unnecessary. There’s plenty of room for both of us.” He’s about to argue, so I pick the pillow back up and toss it on the bed.
A whisper of a smile plays on his lips. “All right.” He crosses back to the bed and perches on the edge. He’s just sitting, but somehow, it’s incredibly intimate—his sweater, the glasses, his bare feet. It’s enough to send me spiraling.
“I’m gonna …” I can’t even finish the statement as I head into the bathroom and start the shower. Because if I don’t splash some cold water on my body in the next thirty seconds, I may combust.
By the time I emerge twenty minutes later, Alex is completely knocked out, even with the bedside lamp still on. I don’t think he’d wake up if a diesel truck barreled into our room. I try to push down my twinge of disappointment. It’s not like anything was going to happen tonight, anyway.
As I lean down to click the light off, I smile at his folded glasses on the nightstand.
He’s lying on his side with his back to the middle of the bed.
His dark eyebrows are knitted, even in sleep, like he’s dreaming about something stressful.
I resist the urge to smooth the line between them.
His eyelashes are fanned out over the tops of his cheeks, his full lips in a tight line.
The sweater is crumpled in the middle of the duvet.
He must have been hot and taken it off. A soft grunt rumbles in his throat, and whether it was subconscious or not, I take it as my cue to turn off the light.
As I slip into bed, I face the edge, mirroring his position.
After wiggling around and gathering up my hair, I find my sweet spot, and my body melts into the mattress.
I didn’t realize how exhausted I was. All the adrenaline from meeting Evelyn, the car breaking down, and having to spend the night here has finally worn off.
And as much as I thought it was going to be tense and awkward sleeping next to Alex, it’s the complete opposite.
I am utterly at ease. The bed is so enormous we could probably drape a pillow between us and neither of us would touch it. With a blissful sigh, I close my eyes.
The sound must disturb him, because just as I’m about to drift off, he rolls over, facing me.
The gentle puff of his breath flutters across my bare neck, and now I am painfully aware just how close he is.
With each exhale that dances across my skin, my body clenches in response, and in an instant, my nipples harden.
All I want is for him to sling his arm across my waist and pull my body flush against his. I don’t even want sex. I just want to be held.
Oh my god, how pathetic.
No, I’m just lonely. That’s it. It’s been too long since I last got laid. And way too long since a guy slept over.
“Alex?” I whisper. He’s silent, save for the steady breaths that haven’t stopped grazing my skin.
I shiver, and as if he can sense it, his hand finds my bare arm, gliding over it in a soothing caress.
“You’re cold,” he mumbles.
My body freezes. Is he awake?
“Alex?” I try again, but he doesn’t respond. His breaths are too deep, too rhythmic. His hand slides down my waist as his arm slackens, and I feel his full weight against my back.
It’s warm and possessive and everything I’ve been craving. My entire body feels weightless. Like he’s got me. I close my eyes, matching his breathing.
And then I let go.