Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(78)
“This wasn’t what I meant when I asked you to stay the night,” he said from somewhere in the dark.
She stretched, warm and cozy in the sofa. He put a knee between hers and came down on top of her, his weight a warm blanket.
“Ace.”
“Mmph,” she grunted.
“Get in my bed,” he whispered, kissing her lips.
“Going home,” she said, groggy, not sure how she’d get her limbs to do what her mouth had suggested.
“My bed.”
“Home,” she whined.
“Ace.”
“Shut up.”
His weight and warmth left her and a second later she was lifted into his arms and being carried up the stairs to his bed. Too tired to argue, she looped her arms around his neck.
Soft blankets enfolded her and she curled to her side. “Have to brush my teeth.”
“Do it in the morning.”
“Yuck,” she mumbled, feeling him crawl in beside her, but it was too late. She’d already faded off to sleep, his body curled around her back, his arm at her breasts, and his hips snuggled into her butt.
*
This time when Evan jerked awake from pictures flashing in his head, it wasn’t only Rae’s lifeless eyes and still body. It was also the image of Lyon, blood pouring from a head wound while he splashed in the Mosleys’ swimming pool.
Heart racing, sheets damp, his eyes flew open at the same time his arm lashed out to the other side of the bed. Instead of encountering cool, empty sheets, his hand landed on the soft, feminine curve of a hip. In response to his not-so-gentle touch, Charlie answered with a soft, feminine hum.
He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.
It’d been a while since his last nightmare. Waking up to thoughts of Rae typically drove him straight to the studio where he’d paint off his jitters. How could he do that with Charlie here? He hadn’t considered this might happen. Hadn’t— “Ev,” her sleepy voice murmured in the dark room. She rolled over to face him, scooted closer, and threw an arm over his chest. Palm flat on his sweat-slicked skin, she must have felt his escalated heart rate because she mumbled, still sounding sleepy, “Okay?”
More than four years had passed since he woke up next to a woman. That woman used to be Rae. That woman continued to be Rae, only he woke up to her memory instead. Now, Charlie nestled against him, taking a deep breath and slipping right back into the sleep he’d barely nudged her from, he considered her question.
Was he okay?
The nightmare that jarred him awake had already turned foggy, the memory less terrifying with his eyes open. Flat on his back, he pulled in a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, dropping his hand over Charlie’s hand resting on his chest.
His thoughts were organized and rational. His limbs were not tingling with impending doom. Lyon was home safe. Charlie was in his bed, in his arms. The clock in the living room ticked the seconds away.
And remarkably, Evan’s eyes slid shut.
Wrapping an arm around Charlie’s shoulder, he pulled her closer. She came, throwing a leg over his leg and inching her hand up to his neck.
He gave her another squeeze, finding solace in her presence and the feel of her breath warm against his neck.
He was asleep within minutes.
*
Sleep came, or maybe it never left, and it didn’t fade off until she heard clattering in the kitchen the next morning. Charlie sat up, stretched, and pulled on her dress from yesterday. What she really needed was a shower, but she settled for brushing her teeth with the toothbrush Evan had given her.
I have a toothbrush at his house, she thought absently as she stared at her foamy-mouthed reflection in his bathroom mirror.
Downstairs, he sat on a stool, flipping through a magazine and sipping a mug of coffee. Oh, he looked good there. Bare feet resting on the bottom rung, tattooed arms leaning on the counter. One bicep flinched impressively as he lifted his mug to his lips… which seemed rather intentional now that she considered how little effort it took to lift a mug.
“Show off,” she muttered.
His lips left the edge of the mug and he turned his head to give her a grin, flexing for her again. “Brush your teeth?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding slightly impatient. He’d goaded her into staying. And she’d stayed. Not her fault. He was too hot, and she was too rested, for her to get any dander up over the situation. Didn’t mean he got off easy. Petulantly, she added, “I’m in yesterday’s clothes.”
His eyes heated as they grazed from her head to her toes. “Got no complaints, Ace.”
“Where’s the kiddo?”
“Legos.”
“So he is seven.”
“Seems so.”
She tapped the edge of the countertop with nervous fingers. “I have a shoot this afternoon.”
Unfazed, he turned back to his magazine. “Dinner.”
“Going to be a late one.”
He put down his mug, abandoned the periodical, and slipped off the stool. She braced herself for an argument or a kiss. In front of her, he breathed out a sigh, very close to her lips, but she didn’t get a kiss.
Bummer.
“You don’t want to have dinner with us?”
Us. She liked that. “I don’t want you to have to wait on me.”