Though he’d probably get all macho on her and deny he had any sort of decorating style.
She liked everything she discovered, especially the photos of him as a little boy and with his parents. It showed he knew where he came from and wasn’t embarrassed about it. That he loved his parents and probably thought he was a pretty funny-looking kid.
Could she totally fall for a guy even though he wasn’t around? It seemed that way. The more time she spent in his home, the more she liked him. She’d never experienced anything like this before, and she was almost afraid for him to return. How could she go from thinking he was a total player jerk face to a possibly great guy practically overnight? Had she judged him too harshly? Was she making up details about Tate because he’d been gone for a few days, only to have him return and ruin the fantasy?
She was being ridiculous, worrying about what Tate might or might not be. She just needed to let things happen.
Once she climbed out of the shower and dried herself off, she wrapped the thick gray towel around her and went to the counter. She wiped at the fogged-up mirror before she started applying all the usual lotions and creams she needed to function in life. Since Delilah was a Sephora VIB Rouge member, she was able to get all of Wren’s favorites shipped to her extra fast, for which she was eternally grateful. Wren braided her hair, slipped on a pair of panties and one of Tate’s T-shirts—another one of her secret indulgences when he wasn’t around—then went to the kitchen and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich.
Her phone dinged as she sat at the kitchen counter, and she checked her messages, her heart racing when she saw who it was.
Tate.
I’m coming home tomorrow morning.
A smile curled her lips as she reread his message. Maybe if she squinted hard enough it could almost be like they really did live together.
I know. The house is a mess. I’m going to spend all night cleaning it up.
His reply was immediate.
Are you serious???!!!
She laughed and typed.
No, I’m kidding. The place is as immaculate as you left it.
Good. I was afraid I’d have to knock a few points off.
You’re using a point system with me?
I use a point system for all the women in my life.
Wren wrinkled her nose. Ew. That was sort of sexist of him.
Okay, fine. That was totally sexist of him.
Even your mom????
Gross, never my mom.
She laughed and shook her head, getting ready to answer him when another text appeared.
Right now you top the list.
What list?
My points list. You’re at 100/100.
Her heart flipped over itself. So stupid. He just admitted to using a points system and rating women, and she was happy because she had a perfect score? What the hell was wrong with her?
I’m honored.
You should be. No other woman has scored that high.
Wren nibbled on her lower lip. They were totally flirting. Not sexting, but this was some major flirtation going on.
How do I rate so special?
You’re just . . .
She frowned, watching the gray conversation bubble appear, the little dots showing that he was texting. Then they stopped. Started up again. But still no reply.
She was just . . . what?
“Ugh.” She set the phone down and dumped her paper plate in the trash, refilled her water bottle, and went back to her phone to see if he’d responded yet.
He had—with one simple word.
You.
Oh. Wow. That was the simplest yet sweetest thing a guy had ever said to her. Or maybe she was making more out of this than she should. This wasn’t a big deal, right? Was she making it more of a big deal?
Her phone dinged again.
What are you doing?
I just ate dinner.
Me too.
A pause. Another text.
What are you wearing right now?
Wren glanced around like someone could see her. She was being ridiculous.
Um, I don’t know if I should tell you.
If you’re naked, just break it to me gently. I’m in a roomful of people right now.
She laughed again and shook her head.
I’m not naked. I just . . . might’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to me.
Isn’t that pretty much everything you’re wearing and using right now?
Jerk. Though he was right, so she couldn’t be mad at him.
What if it’s something that belongs to YOU? Would you be mad?
You’re wearing something of mine?
She was embarrassed to admit it. Felt like she was opening herself up to him when she should probably hold back.
Maybe.
His response was immediate.
Tell me.
Instead of telling him, she thought she’d show him. She opened up her camera, hit the icon that flipped it into selfie mode, and snapped a photo of her with no makeup, her hair in a wet braid, and wearing Tate’s shirt. She hit Send before she could second-guess herself, then immediately second-guessed herself.
You’re wearing my shirt. Tell me you’re naked underneath it.
Wren pressed her thighs together. She was definitely getting worked up over his flirtatious texts.
I’m wearing panties. No bra.
Her phone rang, startling her, and she answered it. “Hello?”
“You’re fucking killing me.”
She pressed her lips together to try to contain the smile that wanted to burst free, but it was no use.
“And right now I know you’re laughing or smiling or whatever it is that evil, teasing women do when they purposely set out to drive men crazy,” he continued, sounding completely put out.
“I am not.”
“You so are.” His voice lowered. “You look cute in my shirt.”
“I’ve worn one of your shirts before.”
“Because I put it on you. This time you chose to wear that shirt. You went into my closet, pulled it off the hanger, and slipped it on.” He hesitated. “What were you doing in my closet anyway?”
“Looking for a shirt to wear. I wasn’t snooping.” She chewed on her thumbnail nervously, hating how defensive she just sounded. “I like your T-shirts. They’re really soft,” she admitted.
“As soft as your skin?” His low, deep voice made heat unfurl in her belly.
“Tate . . . ” She squirmed, wondering what they were doing, why they were saying these things. Was it safer since they weren’t actually in the same room together? Or was he doing this to distract her?
If that was the case, then it was working.
“I have a question.” She hesitated, then decided to go with it. “The photos hanging on your wall.”
“The landscapes?”
“Yeah. They’re beautiful. Who took them?”
“I did.”
Wren was surprised. And impressed. “Really?”
“You sound shocked.”
“I sort of am.” Her voice softened. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks. I used to think I wanted to be a photographer, but now it’s just a hobby.”
“Well, you’re very good.”
His voice deepened. “I’m good at lots of things.”
A laugh escaped her. “Did you just turn this conversation dirty?”
“Me? Never. So tell me. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Um . . . working?”
“Can you take some time off?”
“I make my own schedule, so sure.”
“We should spend the day together. You deserve to forget your troubles and have some fun.”
She wanted to take him up on his offer, but was it a mistake? Maybe she shouldn’t be off messing around and wasting the day away with Tate. There was so much for her to do still. Like look for a place to live. Find more work. Buy more stuff.
“I’d like that,” she said. “I do need a brea
k.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She was about to end the call when she heard him say, “Hey, Dove.”
“Yes?”
“Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Ten
TATE UNLOCKED AND pushed open the front door, closing it behind him quietly. It was still early, barely past seven in the morning, and he hadn’t been so thankful to come home to his own bed in a long time.
Just before midnight his engine had gone out on a medical aid call. It was a multiple car accident on the highway, with the southbound vehicle drifting over the double yellow line and crashing into a car headed north. It had been a nasty wreck; the driver of one car was in critical condition and had to be airlifted to the hospital.
They’d worked through the night and had finally made it back to the station around four. Meaning he got maybe two, two and a half hours before he was relieved from his duties early, and he drove straight home.
He couldn’t wait to drive his ass straight into bed.
The guest room door was closed and he figured Wren was still sleeping. He crept into his room and went straight to the bathroom, shutting the door before he turned on the shower. Stripping off his clothes, he got under the hot spray and let it pour over him, washing away the dirt and grime and reminding him that he was so damn tired.
His shower was quick, and he dried off, striding out into his room to grab a pair of boxer briefs to slip on before he climbed into bed.
He stopped short at the sight before him.
A Wren-shaped lump lying in the center of his bed.
Her hand was tucked beneath her cheek, her lips slightly parted and eyes closed, fast asleep. She looked . . . beautiful.
And he was naked.
Shit.
He went to his dresser and slowly pulled open the top drawer, grabbing a pair of black underwear and glancing over his shoulder. Thank Christ she was still fast asleep. What would she do if she discovered he was standing next to the bed with his dick flapping in the breeze? Be happy about it? Or freak the hell out?
Well, she was the one sleeping in his bed like some sort of fairy-tale princess. Or maybe he was thinking of Goldilocks. The girl who ate all the porridge and slept in all the beds until finding the one that was just right.
Why did he have the feeling that Wren could be just right . . . for him?
Pulling his underwear on, he went back into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, ran his fingers through his wet hair, and contemplated spraying on some cologne. That would be too obvious. He really just wanted to collapse into bed and fall asleep.
But how could he with Wren in it? Not like he could just snuggle up to her . . .
Could he?
Nah.
Maybe. She was in his bed.
He shut off the bathroom lights and went back into his bedroom, staring at his bed. Wren had rolled over onto her back, her dark hair spread out all over his pillow, the sheets pulled low so he could see she was still wearing his T-shirt. She lay right in the middle of the mattress like some sort of bed hog, and he decided, fuck it. He was too tired to think straight, and no way was he taking that crappy guest bed or the couch.
Nope, he was going to sleep in his own damn bed. Catch a few z’s for a couple of hours and hopefully feel good as new. Then he planned on taking Wren out and having fun. No thinking about fires or replacing things or trying to find a new place to live. Wren needed a day to get her mind off her troubles. And he was the one who was going to give it to her.
Tate carefully pulled the comforter and sheet back and slipped beneath them, the mattress creaking and dipping under his weight. She stirred at the sound, rolling over so her back faced him and offering him more space. He pulled the blankets over him and lay on his right side, his fingers itching to run through her hair. Test to see if it was as silky as it looked.
So he gave in to his urges and touched her hair. Combed his fingers through it, discovering that yes, it was definitely as silky as it looked, maybe even more so. She made a low murmuring sound and thrust her butt out so it brushed against his front, and he was instantly hard.
Gritting his teeth, he disentangled his fingers from her hair and told himself to get a fucking grip.
His hand snuck out to touch her on her lower back, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt until he touched bare, warm skin. Closing his eyes, he kept his hand there, smoothing it along her back until his fingers curved over her hip. He scooted closer, pulling her in, until they were snug against each other like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.
She felt good like this. She was warm and soft and smelled so damn good, he leaned in and sniffed her hair, brushing it aside so he could breathe in the scent at her nape. His cock twitched, but he didn’t want that. Not yet. He was content to just hold her for now . . .
Within minutes of sliding into bed he felt Wren stiffen up, and he knew she was awake. He’d just about drifted off to sleep too when her every muscle seemed to freeze. Hell, he wondered if she was even breathing.
“It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. It tickled his nose, and he tried to nudge the wild strands out of his face. “Go back to sleep.”
“Um . . . Tate?”
“Yeah, Dove?” He was done running through the various bird names, but Dove stuck. The nickname fit her. Doves were gentle birds. They were pretty and made soft, cooing sounds. He liked them.
Much like the woman in his bed.
“What are you doing?”
“I should be the one asking you that, right? You’re in my bed.”
“Oh. Right.” She sounded almost disappointed.
“Go to sleep,” he commanded again, slipping his arm around her so his hand rested just beneath her breasts. He hauled her in even closer, her knees bending to accommodate his, and he closed his eyes.
Though he was afraid he wouldn’t get any sleep with her delectable body snuggled so close.
“Are you mad?” she asked after a few quiet minutes.
He sighed, pretending she was putting him out. “Why would I be mad? There’s a sexy, warm woman sleeping in my bed. I can’t complain.”
“An uninvited woman.”
“I’d let you in my bed anytime, you know this.” He kissed the back of her head, wishing he were kissing her somewhere else. Hell, they hadn’t ever really kissed, and he was dying to know the taste of her lips.
“So you’re not angry with me?”
“No. I don’t mind you rifling through my closet, and I definitely don’t mind finding you in my bed. Next time, though, make sure you’re naked. That would be a lot more exciting.”
She tried to jab him in the ribs with her elbow, but he dodged her just in time. “Rude.”
“Ow.” He chuckled, enjoying their easy conversation. He felt totally comfortable with her. He liked that they could just talk and there were no expectations. Though if he had expectations, he figured she could deliver on those too, as could he. She wanted him.
He wanted her.
So that made what was brewing between them fairly simple.
“What’s on the agenda today?” she asked.
“That’s a surprise.” He had no idea what was on the agenda. He fully planned on making it up as they went along.
“I like surprises.”
“Good, because with me, you’re going to get them all the time.” An ex from long, long ago had accused him of being too spontaneous. Being thoughtless. Behaving recklessly with her heart.
She was the last of what he called his steady girlfriends. And that had been ages ago. He hadn’t had a real girlfriend in years. He was too damn busy to commit. Work came first. He figured he’d have time for a relationship later.
But later was starting to creep up on him. His friends were all pairing off, and they seemed happy. He was tempted to experience some of that happiness too.
With Wren.
“That sounds fun,” she said softly, her fingers drifting across his forearm and nearly making his eyes cro
ss. Her simple touch felt so good.
“I’m a barrelful of fun.” He sounded like an idiot, but he was too tired to care. “Now please. Close your eyes and go back to sleep.”
“Really? That’s all you’re going to say after you find me in your bed?” She sounded incredulous.
“What do you want me to do? Kick you out? Rip your clothes off? No way am I damaging one of my perfectly soft T-shirts.”
She laughed and shook her head, her hair brushing across his face. “You’re crazy.”
“So are you. Now go to sleep, okay?” He reached up and cupped one of her breasts, making her gasp. “Or should we just forget sleep, and I’ll rip the T-shirt off after all?”
Wren was contemplating his suggestion. He could practically feel the cogs turning in her brain. He would’ve been up for it too. Whatever she wanted, he’d give her. As best as he could, considering how exhausted he was.
“Did you go on a call before you were let off?” she asked.
How did she know? “Yeah.”
“You seem tired.”
“I am.”
“Maybe we should just cuddle then,” she suggested.
“I like cuddling.” He hadn’t done it in forever. She felt good in his arms.
Too good.
“So do I.”
“I also like making out.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Me too.”
“We’ll have to do that tomorrow though. I’m too tired to kiss you, which is bad. Meaning I won’t be giving you my best performance, and that’s the least you deserve. So you’ll just have to wait.” His words became slower, and his head felt heavy.
“I can wait. Anticipation is a lovely thing.” Her voice was fading. She sounded so far away.
Tate couldn’t bother answering her. He fell asleep to her whispering his name.
WREN BLINKED HER eyes open to find the room flooded with bright sunlight. And a very warm, very . . . um, hard man snuggled up behind her. Tate’s hand had somehow snuck beneath her shirt and was cupping her bare breast, her nipple trapped between his fingers. His other hand rested on her hip, fingers curled into the fabric of her panties . . .
She wiggled her butt against him, secretly hoping that would wake him. Never in her life had she slept so close to a man before. She enjoyed cuddling, but after a few minutes she would push the guy off and that would be that.
Torch: The Wildwood Series Page 9
