Sebring

She’d rolled him on top.

She hadn’t done that. Not once.

He settled in, doing it shifting one arm out from under her to put some of his weight into it at her side, the other hand he moved to her hip where he stroked.

“See?” he joked. “Not as top as you think you are.”

She sighed.

He grinned and kept stroking her hip.

He was wiped but she fell asleep before him, relaxing under his body and his touch which he used to smooth not only her hip, but her side and in, avoiding her scar, to slide up her back and hold her to him.

As she melted into sleep, Knight’s words came to him.

Mysterious pussy can be good. But mostly, mysterious pussy is just a trap.

His brother was right about both.

But he’d missed one.

Mysterious pussy could also just be a mystery.

And Nick was now drowning in the mystery of Olivia Shade.

Which meant he had no choice but to solve it so he could surface.

And maybe survive.

Chapter Eight

Have a Care

Olivia

I heard my phone ringing and my eyes opened.

I saw mattress covered in a rumpled white sheet, sunlight and a hotel room.

I also heard something more.

This being Nick’s voice saying quietly, “Yeah.”

My eyes shifted up.

He was naked and standing by the bed, his head turned to where the noise was coming from my cell that was in my purse on the dresser across the room.

“Large pot of coffee, orange juice, a bottle of champagne, fruit plate, granola and yogurt,” Nick said, still talking low, and I saw he was on the hotel phone. “That’s fine. Right. Thanks,” he ended and I watched him hang up.

I heard my phone stop ringing but Nick walked that way.

My gaze followed and I enjoyed watching him move.

Since we’d met, I’d had no occasion simply to take him in.

And right then I saw his casual confidence in manner also was reflected in his movement, not to mention in his nudity, all being extremely appealing.

I tensed when he picked up my clutch.

It would not make me happy if he dug into my purse. I hadn’t even had the occasion to watch him walk, unless that walking was dragging me, lifting me to throw me across the room to the bed, or while he was inside me, again to put me in bed.

We were definitely not at a place where he could help himself to the inside of my purse even if it was only to help me out by bringing me my phone.

And we’d never be at that place.

Considering the fact he’d been talking quietly, he likely thought I was sleep.

So if he helped himself to my purse, it would be for curiosity and not to help me out at all.

My purse in his hand, he turned back toward the bed and I closed my eyes, suddenly more concerned about him discovering me watching him than him looking through my bag.

I felt the bed depress.

I felt a gentle hand at my hip over the covers.

And I felt him give my hip a light sway and his breath on my cheek when he whispered, “Olivia, wake up. Someone’s tryin’ to get in touch with you.”

I opened my eyes.

His blue ones were smiling.

God, I could open my eyes to that every day.

I’d give my life to have that.

“Hey,” he greeted.

Damn.

This had to stop. What we were doing had to stop.

Immediately.

Even having that thought and knowing it was an imperative one, I didn’t catapult myself from the bed, haul on my clothes and dash out of the room, leaving with iron determination never to respond to another text from Nick Sebring again.

No.

I said, “Hey.”

Something amazing happened to his eyes as his hand slid up my hip.

In the light of day, something I’d never seen him in, I found I could swim in those eyes.

Swim in them forever.

Yes.

This had to stop.

Immediately.

I should have stopped it last night. The night before. The one before that.

Instead, last night, I’d stayed. In the dark, powerless against the pull of a living daydream. Being normal. Having something real. Cuddling with a man after you’d had great sex with him. Speaking to him. Falling asleep with him.

So I’d made a big mistake.

I’d stayed.

And right then, he was coming closer.

I pushed back and dropped my gaze to his fingers wrapped around my clutch resting on the bed between us.

I looked at him again. “You have my purse.”

His head tilted to the side and he pulled back a bit.

I completely ignored the pain even a three inch retreat from Nick caused.

“Your phone’s been ringin’,” he informed me. “Just stopped. But it’s the third time it went this morning.”

I felt my brows draw together and I shifted up, holding the sheet to my chest and looking to the clock on the nightstand.

Just after nine o’clock. Late for me. Early for anyone to call repeatedly on a Sunday.

Those kinds of calls were never good.

“Damn,” I whispered, reaching for my clutch that I noted with gratification I also ignored that he hadn’t opened. “I need to see if something’s up.”

His hand disappeared. I grabbed my purse and got out my cell while he spoke.

“Ordered room service. They say half an hour, forty-five minutes.”

“Right,” I murmured, seeing three missed calls and three voicemails, all from Georgia, all coming in the expanse of ten minutes.

This made me unhappy.

Since our altercation, I’d avoided her and she’d avoided me. I’d done this by not going to the warehouse. She’d done this by not confronting me about not going to the warehouse.

Obviously, she was done avoiding me. The problem was, I wasn’t done avoiding her.