Chapter 12
Avery Hunter’s Reporter Notebook: It’s always a good idea to investigate all angles of the person you’re interviewing, even if you don’t use it later.
I wiped away the condensation on the bathroom mirror and considered the hot mess that was my hair.
The cabin had conditioner in the shower, which I used to tame some snarls in my curls.
I needed to get home to my products. I squeezed the water out of my hair with a towel and shook my head, trying to speed up the air drying.
I looked back into the mirror and sighed.
Yeah. Not great. But it’ll do since I only had my travel comb in my purse.
The underwear I washed before the shower mocked me from its towel on the counter.
Panties. I snort-laughed. If Warren saw the state of my underwear, he would realize they were the farthest thing from sexy panties as you could get.
They were nylon granny-style underwear. I had worn them so I wouldn’t be tempted to sleep with ByTheBook on the first date.
Although, technically, I did sleep with Warren on the first date.
We were just in a jail cell at the time.
More laughter bubbled up in my throat. I covered my mouth with my left hand to keep it inside, and the wedding ring sparkled in the bathroom's light. I held out my hand a little and tilted it this way and that to admire the gems on the band. Was it wrong that I liked how it looked on my finger?
I heard Warren moving around in the cabin and felt terrible for dawdling.
The man was probably chafing by now. I touched the underwear.
It was still damp. Ugh. I couldn’t wear that.
I pulled on the dry T-shirt and sweatpants, deciding to go commando.
It was only a few hours before we were back in Pleasure Point.
I opened the bathroom door to find Warren placing a plate on the dining table. “What’s that?”
His green gaze locked onto mine. “I thought you might be hungry, so I prepared a charcuterie plate for you. I remember you telling me how you liked those.”
“You can make tiny cracker sandwiches,” we both said together.
He smiled that rare but dazzling smile at me, and I gripped the bathroom doorframe to steady myself as a wave of lust rolled over me.
I couldn’t remember the last time a man remembered something I said, much less did something about it.
Warren was quiet and reserved, and even soaking wet, the man was handsome.
But that smile. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?
I felt like a fool. He shifted on his feet, waiting for me to say something.
“That was thoughtful,” I whispered.
He raised a shoulder. “It was nothing.”
Warren was wrong. It was far from nothing. It was definitely something.
“I have some bad news, though,” he said.
I moved toward the table. “Hit me with it.” I picked up two crackers and began making a tiny charcuterie sandwich.
“I returned to the main cabin and spoke to Mr. Ringle. Their phone lines are flooded, so we cannot receive assistance this evening.” He cleared his throat as he finished, and I caught a slight flicker as his eyes danced toward the bed.
We hadn’t talked about the king-sized elephant in the room because we wouldn’t be staying the night.
But now, the air in the cabin became oppressive.
I swallowed a big chunk of meat and cheese and nearly choked.
I reached for the bottle of water that Warren handed me and chugged half of it before catching my breath.
“Okay. That’s fine as wine. No problemo, mister man.
This is what we’ll do. We will build a pillow wall between us on the bed and get a good night’s sleep because lord knows that the loveseat is way too short for either of us.
And before you get all gentlemanly and say, ‘I shall take the floor, milady,’ I call hogwash.
We’re both adults. We can share a ginormous bed and behave ourselves, right?
Then, in the morning, when the weather is better, we’ll make calls or borrow Gerald’s truck or whatever vehicle he has for this camp, and we’ll head on out of here.
Am I right? Or am I right?” I could not stop the verbal vomit from coming out of my mouth.
“Milady?”
“I’ve been reading a lot of Regency romance.”
Warren nodded once. “Your assessment of my intentions is accurate.” He paused, considering the bed again. “If you are okay with this, then it will be fine. I shall shower now.”
I lifted the plate of charcuterie toward him. “Did you want something to eat?”
The side of his mouth quirked up. “Maybe after I dry off. I believe I am starting to chafe.”
“I knew it!”
He frowned at me but said nothing before he ducked into the bathroom with his borrowed clothing, pulling the door shut behind him.
I looked down at my T-shirt and sighed. I had a hard time sleeping with anything on my legs.
This T-shirt was way too short to cover my lady parts without any underwear.
So, I would either need to wear wet underthings, which was a hard pass, or I needed a longer T-shirt.
I set down the charcuterie plate and rummaged through Mrs. Warren’s suitcase.
Everything was akin to a crop top. I spotted Mr. Warren’s suitcase and dove inside, looking for something appropriate.
I found a black T-shirt that would cover me enough to keep my lady business from making Warren’s head explode.
I chuckled at that image. I wouldn’t mind seeing Warren ruffled. Too bad we had to leave in the morning.
My heart sank at that thought, which was ridiculous.
Warren did this so I wouldn’t be arrested, although we probably could have fought that.
I knew this was only a favor to me. It wasn’t real.
And he certainly didn’t seem affected by the thought of spending the night together in the same bed as I was.
Although he did seem riled up by that last kiss at the courthouse.
I stepped out of the sweatpant bottoms, pulled the Bride T-shirt over my head, and flung it across the room.
I changed into the black T-shirt, grabbed the charcuterie plate and two bottles of water, then brought them over to the nightstand farthest from the bathroom.
I would put money on Warren being the kind of guy who had to sleep near the bathroom and the front door.
The bed was springy and covered with a thick red and white striped comforter. I yanked back the bedspread and built a pillow wall between the two sides. Then, I slipped in between the covers and sighed. It was one of those memory foam beds that conformed to your body—nothing like our jail cell.
I picked up the charcuterie plate and made another tiny sandwich, sending crumbs into the bed. I swept them to the floor and munched down as Warren re-entered the bedroom. He wore black boxer briefs and nothing else.
My jaw dropped, and the sandwich I was chewing tumbled out of my mouth, down the front of my T-shirt, and flopped onto the plate.
I couldn’t care less. The man was a freaking vision.
I knew he did yoga, but I had no idea that a yoga body could be so hot.
His toned calf muscles connected to muscular thighs.
His legs were covered in a smattering of curly black hair that gave him a manly vibe without entering into werewolf shifter territory.
A thick bulge in his boxer briefs caused me to squirm in the bed and curse not having any underwear.
His flat stomach was ribbed for her pleasure.
I snickered as I dragged my eyes further up his body, locking eyes with Warren, who wore an amused expression.
“Do I pass the husband test, Ms. Hunter?”
I cleared my throat. “Uh. Yep. Sure. You betcha.” I wanted to smack myself in the face. I squirmed again, thinking about his dick.
He frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Not a thing.”
He pointed to the plate in my lap. “Are you eating in bed?”
I glanced down at the plate, then held it up toward him. “I thought we could have a picnic before going to sleep. Want some?”
He shook his head but took the plate from me. “You will get crumbs in the bed that way.” He took the plate to the fridge, slipped it inside, then paused at my sweatpants on the floor. “What is happening here?”
“Oh. I don’t like to sleep in pants, so I took them off.”
I swore his nostrils flared, but he schooled his expression as he bent to pick up the clothing, giving me a front-row seat to the tight yoga ass my new husband was packing in those underwear that left nothing to the imagination.
It was a good thing there was a pillow wall between us because it would be a long night.