I stiffened. I knew a dismissal when I heard one. He seemed so relaxed now. No, scratch that, more like resigned. “Look, you don’t have to talk about your nightmares with me, but don’t act like I’m crazy, okay? I’m only trying to help, but I guess talking about you isn’t part of the package.”

He quirked a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I get it. You want me, but you don’t actually want to have to talk to me.”

“Shit, Abbie, it’s not like that.” He shifted in bed and the sheet slipped, showcasing his killer body.

I tried to focus on his eyes and his words, not his six-pack. “Then what is it like?”

“I don’t know why I have them, and I mostly just deal with them. Don’t be mad. Please. I’m not shutting you out. I’m not used to sleeping with anyone. So, I’m not used to anyone asking about them. If we’re going to be sleeping together, I need to figure out what triggers them so I don’t wake you or I can stop having as many, but perhaps that’s something we can figure out later?”

I bit my lip. Maybe he wasn’t ready to have this conversation, but we’d have to have it eventually. Just not today. “Okay. I can live with that.”

He immediately changed gears. “So how about I make you breakfast?”

Abbie…

An hour later, I smiled up at him. I could get used to this. Sexy, shirtless Alexi, making me breakfast. It really should be a crime to have him walk around like this. If I didn’t have my camera in my hands, I’d be tempted to forget all about taking it slow with him.

He looked up from the sizzling sausage in the pan and gave me a devilish grin. “What are you staring at?”

“You.” I snapped a photo, oblivious to the light or the surroundings or the composition. I only wanted to capture him as he was. I held up my camera. “Do you mind?”

Something flashed in his eyes, but then he shook his head. “Not as long as you’re my photographer.”

I giggled. “This could get very dangerous, very quickly. There’s nothing sexier than a man cooking. Add to that he looks like you and he’s running around shirtless, and…”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “And what?”

I grinned. “And you’d probably burn your sausage.”

Laughter burst out of him, and he tossed a dishtowel in my direction. “You have a dirty mouth, Abena Nartey.”

“You know, it’s weird, you are not the first person to ever tell me that.”