He blinked at her for a moment, confusion settling in when he realized how sincere she was being. “My bed?” He glanced over her shoulder at the piece of furniture in question. It was so ordinary in comparison to the extravagant five-star ordeal she slept in at her house. “Really?”

She nodded. “It’s safe and warm and smells like your aftershave.”

He leaned forward and took a quick sip from her lips. “I’m safe.” Another sip. “I’m warm.” Another longer, more lingering sip. “I smell like my aftershave.”

She shivered each time their mouths connected, and on the last one, she chased him forward, spoke against his lips. “Let’s be naked now.”

“Yeah,” he agreed immediately, rising up with her in his arms.

She squeaked and gripped at his shoulders. “John!”

“I’ve got you.” And he did. He felt the same way he had when he’d lifted her against her door the night before. The weight of her was reassuring, comforting, thrilling all at once. Something about holding Mary’s body up with his body made John feel more a part of the human race than any other thing he’d done in his life.

The light was full now, but it still had that pre–7:00 a.m. magic that shadowed certain things and made other things glow. John wanted to collapse onto the bed in a pile, but more than anything, he knew that seeing was believing and he needed to see Mary on his bed. He set her down and stood back.

Mary immediately flopped backward, stretching her arms above her head, mussing the covers and making an mmm sound like she’d just tasted something delicious.

John took one step back and then another, until he was far enough away to get the whole frame crammed into his memory. The image of those red shorts on his boring, blue bedspread. Yow. That was so freaking hot.

Someday, he’d like to watch her strip out of her clothes while she lay on his bed, but then she looked up at him, reaching her hand out for him, and the distance part of the morning was officially over.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JOHN STOOD FIVE feet away with one hand tugging down the bottom half of his face. Mary took a mental snapshot of the man who was looking at her like she was literally everything he’d ever wanted.

Mary knew that insecurities ran deep, and they weren’t anyone’s duty to dispel but her own. But still, the look on John’s face right now certainly helped. He wasn’t wishing her to be anything different than the person she was.