Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
MEREDITH
A startled laugh bursts out of me. “What?” I’m not sleeping anywhere in his vicinity. I’d get no rest.
“Until I can get security cameras installed and better locks for the doors, you’re not sleeping alone upstairs.”
That makes too much sense. I also want to swoon. He’s watching out for me? I’d think I was hearing things, but he’s done nothing but take me seriously when I can’t prove someone was here.
“I’m right above you.”
“Either I’m sleeping upstairs on the floor, or you’re sleeping down here.”
“I-I don’t like the futon.” I’m not sleeping in a bed his big body has been in. I can’t shake his scent as it is.
“Then I’ll move upstairs for now.”
“There’s no other bed.” I’ll feel awful if he sleeps on the floor, but there’s no other bed upstairs.
I won’t even broach sleeping in Ransom and Holly’s room.
Entering it was hard enough on both of us.
The futon is bad enough. Yet it’d be even more absurd if I proposed sharing a bed.
There are some refusals I don’t need to hear.
Even worse if he agreed. Then what? His big body next to me in bed?
I already get a wink of rest with him under the same roof.
“Like I’ve said before, I’ve slept on worse. I’ll set the futon pad up on the floor.” He’s not budging.
“You really are serious.”
“About your safety? Yes.”
Oh. A small beat of dizziness passes. Swoon.
I didn’t miss him checking the parking lot before I left the brewery.
He’s insistent, and I’ll gladly give up my “independent girl” card to admit I like it.
But he can’t take the floor, and I’ve slept on the couch before.
I’d rather do that, but I also don’t want him to see me drooling in my sleep.
Or hear me yelling at Sawyer while I talk in my sleep.
Sawyer still gives me grief from sleepovers that happened years ago.
“If I take the futon, do you mind using the couch?”
“I’d prefer it. Then I can hear if someone is at the door.”
“When can you get the security system in?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That quickly?” Surprise cools the back of my neck.
But then I’ve seen him do nothing but roll up his sleeves and get shit done.
He may not like me, but I fall under his umbrella of responsibility.
The college grad from years ago who took in his brothers and got them through school and supported them until their own careers took off can’t shake the sense of obligation.
I’m not special, but I still like the feeling.
“I’ll go to Williston and get something temporary.”
Why temp—Right. We just need something until he sells the house. “The taproom is closed tomorrow, but I’ll be there all day working.”
His gaze glides down my body. Am I listing to the side? I must look like a zombie. Tomorrow is my easy day. I’ll work ten hours instead of sixteen.
He cocks his head toward the door. “Grab a bite to eat while I get my clothes for tomorrow from the room.”
“I’m not hun—” I duck my head when he shoots me a stern look. My stomach clenches like it might growl and prove I’m a liar in front of him. “Maybe a quick sandwich.”
He locks all the doors and ensures the lights outside the house are on. My sandwich-making process is quick and efficient. After eating, I run upstairs and return with sheets and blankets. He’s neatly arranging his clothing on the end table.
“I raided my extra stash.” I deposit the bedding next to his stuff.
His surprised gaze strokes over the items. “Thanks.”
I linger for a heartbeat, unsure of what to do. He takes a sheet and flicks it open. Just like in the kitchen, the intimacy shocks me. Even when I lived with Tanner, the air between us wasn’t as thick as this. It wasn’t electrified.
I stuff a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll use the bathroom upstairs, so you don’t have to wait.”
I don’t give him a chance to answer. I dart upstairs, clean up, and shrug into my nightshirt. Catching myself in the mirror, I stop. My nipples poke through the fabric, and while the shirt may fall nearly to my knees, I have nothing but pants on underneath it.
I wrestle into the bra that was on top of my dresser and jump into a pair of shorts. Both will come off once I’m closed in the guest room—with many of his things. An excited thrill curls through my belly.
The sound of running water flushes through the pipes.
He’s in the other bathroom. I rush down the stairs, ready to lock myself in the guest room, but as I’m streaking down the hall, the bathroom door opens, and he turns out.
I let out a yelp and skid to a stop, nearly dropping my bundle of clothing.
Holy crap, his chest… Dusted with dark hair as fascinating as his permanent five-o’clock shadow, there’s nothing but muscles, ripples, and bronzed skin. The hallmark line of a farmer’s tan is starting at his biceps, and I’m riveted.
He sidesteps. “Shit. Sorry.”
Startled, I step in the same direction. “Sorry!”
We move in the same direction again—and again. His chest rumbles with a deep chuckle.
Oh god. He’s laughed twice now. And that smile. My panties don’t just melt off—they evaporate. Poof. I’m lucky my shirt doesn’t turn to ash from the heat coursing through me.
He puts his big, hot hands on my shoulders and nudges me to the left.
The strength emanating from his gentle grip robs all the balance from my knees.
Flutters explode in my belly, and I cannot think about the sensation building between my thighs.
I didn’t bring spare underwear downstairs, and I can’t sleep in his bed having soaked through mine.
But wow, I’m turned-on. Hallway dancing with Calder is my kink. Making him smile? Instantly wet. Even when he’s an asshole, I can’t seem to control myself.
He releases his hands, his fingers gliding down my arms to my fingertips. I haven’t forgotten when we held hands in my parents’ bedroom, but I chalked it up to loss. Shared grief. What’s the reason for this?
He leans close, his mouth to my ear. “Night, rosy. Sleep tight in my bed.”
“Futon,” I say weakly as a shiver whispers down my spine.
But he’s gone, and I’m left in the cool hallway with the AC gusting from the vents.
I’m afraid I’m going to sleep so tight in his bed I won’t want to leave.