Chapter 25
Surprisingly, I don’t dream, and the soft light filtering through the doors and windows pulls me from my deep sleep. Warmth and a solid weight wrapped around me pulls me from my slumber, and I instantly panic.
Owen has somehow tangled himself so completely around me that I don’t think I’ll be able to get out without waking him. And that’s a problem because I completely forgot to put on the sweatpants I left next to the bed, and I’m not wearing any underwear under the T-shirt.
He has his head buried in my hair while one arm is draped over my waist. His legs are twined through mine so intricately that it’s hard to tell where I begin and he ends.
How did we even end up like this? And how did I not wake up?
Sucking in a large breath, I start pulling the T-shirt over my exposed ass that is plastered to the front of him. Luckily, I kept all his clothes on.
Once I shimmy it down enough to provide at least some coverage, I push the arm around my waist off of me. He makes a slight noise and shifts but doesn’t wake.
At a painstaking pace, I slide my top leg out from under his until only my ankle is tangled up with his calf. Another deep breath, and I brave the last tug, and his leg falls on my other one, wedging my limb between both of his.
I’m now awkwardly on my stomach, ass once again exposed, and I have no idea how to get my other leg free.
My body trembles with suppressed laughter at the absurdity of the situation—which, of all the things, is what wakes Owen.
I’m so worried about my exposed ass that I jerk off the bed and tumble ungracefully onto the floor, yelping in the process.
I scramble to pull the shirt down before I sit up and raise my head to find Owen peering over the edge of the bed, a large smirk plastered on his way-too-pretty face.
“Everything all right, Miss Riley?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Fine.” I scowl as I stand, satisfied that the shirt covers everything.
Owen looks me up and down, and I shift uncomfortably on my feet.
“Interesting choice of sleeping attire,” he comments, the grin still there.
“It was a little hard to find something to sleep in when I had to carry your ass inside in the dark, and I wasn’t sleeping in that thing.” I motion to the discarded gown I threw onto a chair next to the dresser.
Owen’s eyes shoot to the dress and back to me. Still, his smile doesn’t disappear. “It’s not like me to point this out. In fact, I’ll probably kick myself later, but that shirt and the light filtering in from the doors behind you probably reveal more than you want them to.”
I instinctively wrap my arms around myself, mortified.
Owen laughs and stands, opening a drawer. He tosses me another shirt—this one is black—and points to the sweatpants by the bed.
“That might be more to your liking,” he says, holding back more laughter. “However, I’d be fine with you wearing what you are now.”
“Get out!” I shout, wanting to punch the grin off his face.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender and inches toward the door. Stopping at the entrance, he looks back. I’m still awkwardly trying to cover myself.
“You know—”
“Get out!” I shout again.
He laughs again, and the sound does something to me that I don’t even want to begin to unpack, but he obeys and slips out the door, closing it behind him.
I drop my arms and breathe deeply. I have no idea why my heart is racing or why I’m practically shaking.
After stuffing myself into the shirt and pants, I open the door and am hit with the scent of coffee. I almost moan.
I find myself content as I enter the kitchen, which is a rare feeling for me.
Owen has also changed, and he’s in his usual morning attire: joggers and no shirt.
He doesn’t notice me right away as he moves around the kitchen, grabbing mugs and plates. I observe for a moment, admiring the way the muscles in his back flex and move, the jaw-dropping beauty of him.
“Enjoying the view?” Owen chuckles, and I realize I’ve been staring and hadn’t noticed his attention.
I deflect the question. “I have to admit, this is not what I expected when I was told to take you home.”
“No? And what did you expect, Miss Riley?” He crosses his arms and leans casually against the counter behind him.
I try not to look at his abs or the muscles in his arms. “You’re a billionaire, Mr. Mills. What do you think I expected?”
“Fancy gated house, fancy cars, and way too much house for one person?”
I laugh. “Well, yes. That seems to be the standard with billionaires these days.”
“I’m not your average billionaire.”
“No, you’re not.” I don’t know why it comes out all breathy.
Owen studies me for a moment until the coffee maker beeps, and his attention returns to his task.
“Do you want some?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I mumble, heading for the kitchen table.
Owen stops me with a hand on my arm before I reach the chair. I lock eyes with him.
“You seem a bit off this morning.” It’s more of a question than a statement.
“Now, why would you say that?” I ask sarcastically, stepping into him so I can shout in his face.
“First, long before I came to your company, you get yourself into some huge mess that involves criminals, then I get shot in the woods on a hike with you, then you decide to get piss ass drunk at your own charity gala that happens to have a notorious assassin looking for you! And then I find you completely unconscious and have to drag your ass home to your cottage in the woods that no one knows even exists. I put you to sleep, and then lay there, not knowing what the hell is going on!”
I keep rambling, unable to stop myself. “And on top of that, I wake to you tangled up with me, and I was half-naked, and somehow I actually slept without a nightmare, and you wake up, acting like nothing happened!”
I didn’t intend any of it as an insult, but my brain doesn’t know how to process what I’m thinking and feeling, let alone the half-naked man standing in front of me, looking as though I just punched him in the gut.
“I’m sorry, I—”
My brain seems to glitch, and my mouth instinctively crashes into his.
Weeks of tension finally snaps as Owen wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. With his other hand, he grabs the hair at the base of my head and tugs so that the angle of his mouth fits perfectly with mine.
His tongue sweeps in. Before I know it, he’s kissing me as if he’ll never get the chance to taste me again.
I moan into his mouth, and he grabs my hips and spins us, never breaking our contact. He lifts me onto the counter, nudging my legs apart so he can settle between them.
Owen pulls away. His chest rapidly rises and falls in sync with mine. My fingers trace his torso and move slowly down his abs.
He shuts his eyes for a moment, as if he’s trying to compose himself. I smile at his body's reaction to my touch.
“I’m beginning to think your sleep attire was by design,” he whispers, his voice so deep and rough that it sends a spark right through me.
“If it were by design, I would have stayed tangled up in you,” I whisper back, my hands now tracing the edge of his pants.
He sucks in a sharp breath and replies through gritted teeth, “Why didn’t you?”
My fingers stop their back-and-forth motion. “Because I was afraid.”
Owen’s hand lifts, and he runs his thumb across my bottom lip. I swallow the sound gathering in the back of my throat.
“What are you afraid of?” he asks.
“That this is all we get.”
The devastating truth. The reality I don’t want to admit to myself.
Owen’s thumb stops its movement, and I want to take back the words. I want to take it all back so I don’t have to watch his green eyes melt into sadness.
Grabbing the edge of his pants, I pull him back to me, wanting—needing—to fuse our bodies.
“If this is all we get,” he whispers as his lips hover over mine, “then we'd better make it count.”
I should be thinking about what he means and how he didn’t contradict me, but his words go straight through me, and I let go of his pants. My hands reach for the bottom of my shirt, and I pull it straight over my head.
Owen’s gaze slowly roams over my body, and I react as if he’s actually touching me. I swallow hard.
“Fuck, Nova,” he whispers, and I swear his voice wavers a bit.
I reach for his chin and guide his eyes to mine. “Touch me, Owen. Please.”
There’s no hesitation as his mouth finds mine again and his hands trail up my bare skin, leaving searing heat in their wake.
His fingers find my peaked nipple and swirl around it. I finally allow a breathy moan to escape my lips. I arch my back, needing more.
His mouth leaves my lips and trails down my neck. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him even closer.
He lets out a chuckle at my impatience as his tongue finds my nipple. I claw at his back, and my toes curl around the rim of his pants and push them down as far as I can manage. He backs up a step, watching me.
I growl at the separation but am silenced when he steps out of the pants I half-removed.
I’m shamelessly staring when he laughs. “Like what you see?”
My eyes travel to his, and I’m so far beyond embarrassed that I nod.
His smile is so broad that his dimple appears, and I have the strangest urge to kiss it. I beckon him forward again, and he obliges. He steps between my legs, and I grab his chin and plant a soft kiss in the corner of his mouth.
“That fucking dimple of yours is going to be the death of me.”
“Really? That’s what you find so appealing?”
“Among other things,” I smile seductively.
Owen cocks his head to the side. “What other things?”
I trace the outline of his green eyes with my fingers.
“These.” I move my fingers down his cheek and trace his lips.
“And these.” My fingertips roam over his chin and down his neck, running along his collarbone.
I move them further down, tracing the outline of his abs.
“And these.” My breath gets shallower the lower I go, and it takes all of me to finish what I started.