Chapter 10
Poppy shoved Decker inside her bedroom and slammed the door.
For good measure, she pushed him away and then she checked the closet, under the bed, and in the shower before plastering her body against the entryway to make sure no one could get inside.
Call her paranoid, but a camera crew just showed up at ten at night and caught them in a near lip-lock in the woodshop!
“How much do you think they saw?” she asked, her breath coming out in bursts.
“Why, Angel? Afraid America will learn you’re interested in my layers? Or my lips?”
“How can you be so blasé about this?”
He walked over to the bed and took a seat on the corner, man-sprawling his legs out and taking up half the room. Taters plopped on the end of the mattress and began kneading the comforter.
“You think I’m being blasé about this?” he asked quietly. “If anyone has the right to be upset it’s me. I was the idiot who was spilling my guts out there.”
The word idiot hit her like a pallet of bricks to the heart. Did he regret letting her in, talking to her about such personal things? Just when she thought they were getting somewhere, taking things from surface to a depth that spoke to her, she was reminded of just how shallow he could be.
“We nearly kissed. You’re okay with that being out there?”
His expression was so schooled she couldn’t tell what he was feeling. “You have a problem with that?”
“You don’t?” she asked.
“Me kissing a pretty lady? And not just any pretty lady, but you? Nope.”
His words caught her off-balance, but she did her best to ignore the way her tummy flickered like a roman candle was going off.
She spun around in a circle. “Do you take anything seriously?”
He went stock still. “I might come off as a stupid jock. But when it comes to my reputation, I take everything seriously.”
Did that mean that he took their almost lip-lock seriously? Or was it an in-the-moment kind of thing? She didn’t want to think too hard on either scenario. In fact, the only thing she wanted was to go to bed and forget tonight ever happened.
“I think we should just call it a night,” she said.
He stared her down as if calling her bluff. But in the end, he gave a big shrug of indifference. “If you say so.”
He stretched his arms over his head and his shirt followed, exposing a band of tan muscle and sinew that was so lethal it should require a concealed carry permit. Then he stood up, chucked the shirt altogether and climbed into bed—her bed!
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, her voice quivering at the sight of him in a state of near nakedness.
“Where else do you expect me to sleep?”
“Anywhere but there.”
He stood, grabbed a pillow, ripped the comforter off the bed, and stretched out on the floor.
It didn’t help the situation since the comforter only covered him from hip bone down.
Then he did the unthinkable, he crossed his arms under his head and those biceps exploded into some deadly guns that had her panties catching fire.
“Anywhere but this room, Thor.”
“My room is flooded and soon to be filled with fans. The other rooms are torn down to the studs. I’m open to suggestions.”
She stared him down like a hunter to a grizzly. “If I find out you staged this, I will kill you.”
He grinned. “Not a setup. I promise.”
Even though she believed him, what were the odds that a camera crew showed up right when the pipes burst and were also glued shut?
“You can sleep in your cot. Drag it down to the garage. You can sleep anywhere for all I care. Anywhere but within ten feet of me.”
“Good thing this bedroom is fifteen by fifteen.”
“Gah! You are so annoying. Go sleep in your truck!”
The moment the words came out of her mouth a loud rumble shook the room and a streak of lightning lit up the sky.
She looked up at the ceiling. “Are you kidding me?”
“You still want me to sleep in a steel truck in the middle of a summer storm?”
She sighed. “I might not like you, but I don’t want you dead. Not on my account.”
He dumped the comforter back on the mattress, pulled back the sheets, and slid all the way into bed.
“Excuse me. What are you doing?”
“We just had this discussion. I’m going to sleep.”
“I never said we were sharing the bed.”
He opened one eye. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
Yes. “You look like a mouth breather. I don’t sleep with mouth breathers. They drool.”
“Oh, you won’t have to worry about me drooling, but Taters might be a problem.”
The giant dog pranced up and down the bed in circles and curled up in the middle, leaving no room for her. “At least now I don’t have to put up a pillow wall.”
She walked to her dresser and pulled out a pair of pj’s Kiki had bought her for Christmas that seemed fitting for the moment—an oversized Some people ride the crazy train. I drive that bitch shirt with little choo-choo leggings. She headed to the bathroom.
Poppy paused at the doorstep. Looking over her shoulder, she pointed two fingers to her eyes, then his, in an I’m watching you gesture. He did the same, only pointed to her ass.
With a roll of the eyes, she slammed the door.
Hair combed, teeth brushed, face washed, and not once did she think about the big sprawling, half naked man in her bed.
Nor did she think about how her heart reacted when they’d almost kissed.
It had never reacted like that. It felt like falling over the top of a roller coaster and launching into the sky simultaneously.
Then there was the way her lips tingled.
She most definitely did not think about that.
Especially because that wasn’t the only part of her tingling.
In fact, had she not been so caught off guard by Hormone-Gate she would have paid more attention to her spidey senses, which were blaring again, wondering again how the camera crew knew to show up after the set had closed down for the night in order to capture an intimate moment in an area that had no mics or cameras.
It almost felt staged.
Suspicious indeed. Almost as suspicious as the way her body was reacting.
“Stop this right now, Poppy Anne Hart,” she demanded, giving herself a stern look in the mirror.
“Yes, you are kind and funny. You only attract decent people. You are confident, not extra. Your crew loves you and wants to be led by you,” she said, repeating her bedtime mantra.
“But tonight, you need to remember that you don’t take shit from anyone.
Especially that dickwad in your bed. Now get out there and show him you mean business. ”
She stepped into her pajama body armor, then opened the door.
He took one look at her and a small smile overtook his lips, which had that tingle zinging through her core again. His eyes dropped to her chest and she blasted herself for going sans bra.
“Good thing I like ’em a little crazy,” he said, and Poppy rolled her eyes. Too bad her cheeks heated in direct contrast to the unaffected look she was going for.
“Scooch, you’re hogging the whole bed.” She shoved at his giant arm, but Thor didn’t budge.
“Say please.”
“Please,” she deadpanned.
“As the lady wishes.”
He picked up Taters and in one fluid movement he was on the other side of the bed, Taters was in the middle, and Poppy had her third of the bed waiting for her.
“Thank you,” she said pertly and climbed in. The second she pulled up the covers she knew she’d made a tactical error. She should have made him sleep in the truck. Or maybe slept in the truck herself.
Her shirt was right, she was driving the crazy train, or she would be by the end of the night. Because as the sheets settled around her so did the scent of worn leather and hot, yummy man.
Her body was lying in the imprint of his, which was almost as intimate as lying on top of him. Then she looked over Taters’s head and her eyes locked on a pair of stormy blue pools, so intently focused on her that they created a rising tide of hormones inside her, making it impossible to swallow.
Not wanting to ride this unstable wave of irresistible attraction any longer—or let him know the effect he was having on her—she quickly rolled over. It didn’t help. She could still feel the pull, like the tide to the shore.
“Alexa,” she said. “Lights off.”
The room was plunged into darkness, with only a sliver of moonlight and streaks of lightning to illuminate the area. Instead of the tension between her legs easing, it did the opposite, growing and growing until it felt as if she was in a pressure cooker of sexual tension.
What the hell was going on with her? She groaned and threw the sheets over her head and began counting down from ten.
“How many guys have had the privilege of sleeping in this bed?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Just trying to distract myself. The same as you,” he whispered.
Did that mean he was having the same problem? And what did it mean if he was? Even more concerning, did she want the answer to that question?
Nope.
“Counting you and Taters…two.”
She felt the bed shift, and knew he was rising on his elbow. “Seriously? Your room is at the front of a one-story, away from the other rooms and you never snuck a guy into your bed? Wait. Why am I asking America’s favorite girl-next-door? You were too much of a good girl for that.”
“Hey.” She tossed the covers back and sat up straight. She could feel her hair going in all directions from the static electricity in the air. “I had my wild years.”
“Name one thing you did that you’d consider wild.”
“Once I climbed the water tank to repel down and—” She immediately zipped her lips because this was the worst “wild story” ever.
“And.” He smiled. “Go on.”
“That’s it.”
“No, it’s not. I can tell by the way you’re fiddling with the hair band on your wrist you’re lying.”
She looked down and sure enough she was fiddling— totally her tell. But how did he know?