Breathe (Colorado Mountain #4)(73)

Drowsily, I decided he was hot naked. He was hot in clothes. He was also hot in pajama bottoms.

Not a surprise.

He came to my side and switched off the light then I heard it as he rounded the bed and I rolled as he did. The bed moved as I watched his shadow enter it. He flicked the covers over us and he stretched out on his back.

But he didn’t settle on his back because I felt his hand shove under me and I was hauled to his side. His arm curled me close, pressed tight down his side and I had no choice (not that I would take another one) but to rest my cheek on his shoulder and snake my arm across his flat abs.

“So you’re a cuddler?” I whispered.

“No,” he replied.

I blinked at the shadowed planes and angles of his chest.

“Uh…”

“Or I wasn’t until about two seconds ago.”

My belly melted and my heart flipped.

“You move away from me, Faye, you’ll be right back where you are right now,” he warned, his voice quiet, soft but low and serious.

Weird.

Hot and sweet.

But weird.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“You stay close,” he ordered.

“Okay, honey.”

“Okay,” he muttered and his arm around me got tighter.

My arm around his gut gave him a squeeze.

He fell silent.

I stared at his chest.

Then I called, “Chace?”

“Yeah?”

I licked my lips.

Then I said quietly, “Thank you for making that beautiful.”

He said nothing.

Then he rolled into me, pressing a knee between my legs so I was forced to hook one around his hip and both his arms gathered me close and held me tight.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispered and now his voice was quiet but hoarse.

“Okay. ‘Night, honey.”

One of his hands slid up my spine and into my damp hair then it slid through.

And back.

Then he whispered, “’Night, baby.”

His hand slid through my hair.

And again.

Moments later I fell asleep pressed deep and held tight to Chace Keaton.

Chapter Ten

Halfway Gone

Chace’s eyes opened and he blinked away sleep.

The strong Colorado sun was fighting his curtains and, as usual, winning.

Chace felt his body get tight.

Something was wrong.

He stared across the pillows at the empty bed.

He was on his side, one hand shoved under the pillow at his head, his other arm thrown wide.

No Faye.

Instantly, it felt like a hand reached in and gripped his gut in an iron tight fist.

Not a man prone to fanciful thoughts, not one he could recall in his life, it still hit him that the way his life had swirled down the toilet, it wouldn’t be a surprise that the last three weeks had been a dream. A cruel, twisted, dream.

A taste of sweet.

The touch of an angel.

A trace of a miracle.

Then gone.

He smelled bacon frying.

The moment he did, he rolled, threw back the covers, angled out of bed and prowled out of the room, down the hall, through the arch and toward the kitchen where he took five steps then stopped dead.

Because Faye Goodknight was standing at his stove at the island.

Faye Goodknight.

In his house.

In his kitchen.

At his stove.

All this the morning after she gave him her virginity and spent the night in his arms in his bed.

She was wearing the shirt he wore yesterday. It was unbuttoned and only partially covered the sexy as all f**k sapphire blue silk nightie that had thick lace at the top and, he’d seen last night but couldn’t see now, another rim of thick lace at the hem as well as deep slits up each side. A nightie the likes of which he figured no virgin would wear. The likes his ex-virgin was definitely currently wearing.

Her head was turned slightly to the side to take a sip from one of his coffee mugs.

But her eyes slid to him and she didn’t take a sip.

She lowered the mug to the counter by the stove and snapped, “You spoiled the surprise.”

“What?” he whispered, unable to make his voice louder but she still heard him because she answered.

“I’m making you breakfast in bed.” Her eyes moved the length of him then came back to his. “Or I was.”

Her words and her tone jerked him out of his stupor and he kept prowling toward her.

Her pretty, makeup-less face lost its mock annoyance and she stared at his advance, her body turning toward him as he rounded the island. She looked like a doe caught in headlights, just as terrified, just as frozen and just as cute.

She forced out a, “Chace –” but that’s as far as she got before he hooked her at the waist with an arm and yanked her into his body. He drove his other hand in her hair, cupped her head, tilted it to one side, slanted his then he took her mouth.

When he did, he took his time.

He didn’t break the kiss until he’d had his fill.

Or his fill for now.

When he lifted his lips from hers, he opened his eyes to see hers follow suit far more slowly. She did this often. Chace liked it. It made her look like she was waking from a really good dream.

He slid his hand down to curl it around the back of her neck and he whispered, “Mornin’, baby.”