Rogue (Real #4)(40)

I sense his curious gaze watching my every move, and when I sigh and lie down on my side, facing a stone fireplace on the far side of the room, he laughs behind me. “You really plan to sleep way over there?”

“I don’t want to intrude!” I laugh nervously. “I don’t stay over usually.”

“You just like to f*ck and get away, that’s fine, princess. Except for the fact that I’m not done with you.”

He reaches out and guides me toward him by my braid, and when I don’t protest the maneuver and actually feel like tucking myself closer to his warmth, he exhales softly. “You’re something, aren’t you,” he murmurs, taking my braid in his fist and forcing me to roll over and face him. Then he pins my head against his, forehead to forehead. “Maybe I’ll sleep tonight; you wear a man out.”

“What do you mean?” I peer up at him, notice the hard set of his jaw. “You don’t sleep?”

“Not well, but I’ll go for it if you will,” he softly teases me.

“Then let’s go for it,” I say, grinning.

It feels like, for several minutes, we stay as we are, him with the merest curve of his lips while I’m smiling completely, both of us looking into each other’s eyes. I have no idea what he sees in my eyes that holds him so intently engrossed, but I can’t look away from his gaze either. It’s so closed and mysterious while, at the same time, I can see a fiery rawness in his gaze, as if he desperately wants something from me.

Not something: all of me.

“Come here,” he rasps. He makes the first move, easing one of his arms around me, pulling me against his side. I cuddle into his large body, a little tense at first, but at the same time, achingly aware of every spot where our naked bodies are touching. Where my breasts press into his ribs, my cheek on his chest, one of my legs hooking in between his.

God, this is as intimate as it gets with a man and I cannot relax, I cannot oxygenate, I cannot formulate a thought.

His breathing begins to deepen and . . . oh, wow. He’s asleep.

He fell asleep holding me, with his arm locked around my shoulders, and I don’t understand why I get butterflies over this.

There’s a little blood on his shirt, on the sleeve of the arm curved around me. I touch the red stain, wondering if I scratched him. Then I stare up into his beautiful, masculine face, wondering about him. For the first time in my life, I want to lie in bed next to a guy and listen to him breathe, slow and deep, like he’s breathing. I don’t understand my visceral reactions to him.

This hot man with a secret room. Who in the world has a secret room?

This man does. And I’m so curious about him, I study his features and tell myself I can sleep when I’m alone . . . so I touch his nipple ring and watch him lie in his big lonely apartment, deep asleep with one arm around me, wondering what other secrets he keeps from me.

? ? ?

A PHONE IS beeping, and beeping, and beeping. I moan and twist around, feeling something against my body that’s so hot and so hard it’s definitely not a pillow. “What is that sound?”

Sleepy hazel eyes open and meet mine, and my lungs tighten in the most delicious way. Did I really sleep in this man’s arms? This man who told me he was going to be my worst nightmare? He sits up in bed and works the kinks out of his neck, stretching out his arms until every muscle is tight and flexed, then he curses as the beeping continues, grabs the offending machine and stalks out of bed and steps, buck naked, out onto the balcony of his apartment. I survey his butt with a tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach. What day is today? Saturday? Sunday?

Brooke. Remy. Wedding, I remind myself. You and Greyson.

Melting.

I shake off my sleep and realize I’ve been here over thirty-six hours. All of Saturday early morning and now, today, is it already Sunday?

I stretch and my body is sore all over. I remember yesterday. Eating with him on the floor, picnic style. Lounging in bed. Teasing him. Watching Blow. God. I haven’t had a weekend this amazing in my dreams.

He asked about my fantasies last night.

I laughed. “Well . . . I might have one, but I’m not going to tell you,” I whispered in mischief as I peered up into his face. “What’s one of yours?”

“Fantasies are for people who don’t do what they want.”

“So you’ve done everything then?”

“Everything that I’ve wanted to do.”

“Including me?”

He laughed, a delicious sound. “Including you. Now a handful of times.”

“Including a threesome?” I teased.

“Of course.”

“Really?” Perking up with curiosity, I propped my chin on his chest. “Is it fun?”


He ran his thumb down the dents of my spine, glancing at my smile with a smile of his own. “For the guy, yes. The girls don’t seem to be able to forget it’s not a competition.”

“You only do threesomes with two girls?” I prodded. “That’s very * of you.”

“Baby, I don’t share my girls with other men, that’s not how I roll.”

“Well, I couldn’t share with another girl either. I’d kick the bitch out of bed right now. I’d want both your hands on me, not just one. Pfft!”

He laughed and threw his head back a bit, his voice rumbly and rough, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re enough for any guy, trust me.”