Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T #1)(28)

This is a bad idea.

This is a bad idea.

This is a bad idea, blares in my head over and over as I follow his movements. Each one is strong and with ease, while I sit here and second-guess every word, every reaction when I’m around him. The kick to the head seems to have made me lose some sense. I should call my mom. Hell, I should call Payton, but knowing my family, the last thing I need is them on my case about this.

“Come on.” He opens my door and reaches across me, releasing me from my seatbelt. The warmth of his hand at my side spreads fervor all through me. I try not to react, but fail when a shiver runs right over me.

“You okay?” Anyone could have mistaken the reaction as pain or discomfort, but not Hetch. His grin tells me he knows exactly how affected I am by him. By his touch.

Smug *.

“A little sore, but I’ll survive.” I start to move out of his reach, but he holds me still, his hands at my waist, his eyes to mine.

“I’m staying with you tonight,” he says, and my suspicions about the kick to the head earlier prove to be true, when instead of arguing, telling him I’m fine, my head nods in agreement.

Jesus, this is dangerous.



“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Hetch.” I seem to have come back to myself twenty minutes later as I watch him turn my sofa into a makeshift bed.

“It’s either your parents or me. Your call, sweetheart.” I’m not sure on the sweetheart either, but I keep it to myself. When I told him not to call me it in the car, he laughed.

“You’re too big to fit on my sofa. Won’t you be more comfortable next door in your bed?” I press, hoping he sees the error of his ways. I know he wants to help, but this is too much.

“Nope, told you I’m staying, so quit hovering, take your meds, then head to bed. I’ll see you in the morning,” he orders and, instead of arguing anymore, I decide to let it go. If he wants to hang out on an uncomfortable sofa, who am I to stop him?

“Okay, well, thanks again. For everything.” We share a brief moment, almost like the one earlier in the car, before I wave him off and head down the hall to my bathroom. Needing a shower, but craving sleep more, I quickly work through my nighttime routine. Fifteen minutes later, dressed in an old shirt and pair of short shorts, I tie my hair back in a low bun, take my pain meds and leave the bathroom. The low, dim light of the living area tells me Hetch is still up. Not wanting to face him again this evening, I slip into my room and close the door with a silent click.

I'm about to climb into bed when out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. A huge-ass spider scurries across the wall. An almighty scream leaves my mouth at the sight of it.

“FUCK!” I can’t deal with spiders. Not even a little. All rational thought leaves my mind as I race out of my room and down the hall, smacking right into the hard, naked chest of Hetch.

“What's wrong?” he asks, stepping past me.

“There's a—” I can’t get the words out. Between the spider, the pain of the collision and seeing Hetch half-naked, I become tongue-tied. “M-my b-bedroom.”

Gun drawn, Hetch follows my pointed finger and races down the hall.

After a few short beats, he comes back, his gun relaxed at his side. “There’s nothing there.”

“What?” I screech, moving faster than I should back down the hall. Another scream leaves my throat when I see the creature scurry out of hiding. “There.” I point at the freakishly large spider.

“That's all that’s wrong?” He sounds relieved and dare I say annoyed.

“What do you mean all? Are you mad? The thing's f*cking huge.” A shiver runs over every inch of my skin at the thought of going to bed without killing it.

“Jesus, woman. I thought someone was in here.”

“There is someone in here. A FUCKING SPIDER!” I want to slap him and his blasé ass.

“Fuck me.” He shakes his head in a soft chuckle, stepping into my room. “You have a shoe or something?”

“Yeah, let me get one.” I step around him and slowly move to my closet, grabbing the first flip-flop I see. “You have to get it, Hetch. I'm not kidding. I cannot sleep here until it's dead.” I inform him on the seriousness of the situation while passing him the shoe.

“Just calm down. I have this.” He sounds so sure of his spider-killing abilities, but until the f*cker is dead, I’m taking all precautions.

After watching him assess the situation for a minute, he climbs up on my king bed and slowly moves in closer. It’s the first chance I have to really take notice of his body. He’s shirtless, wearing low-slung boxers on his narrow hips. The bunching muscles of his shoulders ripple under his tense stance.

Holy shit! He’s perfection.

Perfection in my bed.

Tight.

Hard.

Corded with bronze muscle upon muscle.

In my bed.

“It’s at a f*cked-up angle.” He pulls me out of my ogling, stressing me out further.

“Oh, God. Don’t say that. You cannot miss it. Promise me you won’t,” I repeat, needing him to truly understand my fear.

“You keep talking, you’re gonna distract me,” he whispers as he slowly inches his way closer to the offending creature.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t deal.” I’m on edge, waiting for him to make his move.