As if to agree, she put her two front paws on the bed, pushing herself up to say good morning.

It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.

“I’ll go down and let her out, start the coffee.” Rowan squeezed me once more before rolling out of bed.

I stared at his back, the pockmarks of scars on it, tracing the way the muscles moved as he did.

The urge to run my hands along every inch of his skin, press my lips against those scars and learn where they came from, hit me hard and quick.

I didn’t know where they came from. What he’d gone through to get them. I knew what he’d endured had been dark; I’d heard it in his voice last night. But there was so much unknown about the man I’d let into my life, into my bed.

And he didn’t know anything about me. We were still strangers, doing domestic tasks like letting the dog out and making coffee.

But it was far too early to be thinking about that. So instead, I watched them leave the room, Rowan with one long, lingering glance at me in bed that set my skin on fire. Then, once they went downstairs, I got myself in the shower so I could get ready for my day.

* * *

Rowan’s eyes had been on me since I came downstairs in my dress. And yes, I might’ve put it on for him.

It wasn’t really normal for me to wear a dress to work. Not unheard of since I dressed mostly based on my mood, and every woman should be able to wear a nice dress whenever the fuck she felt like it. But yes, this one might’ve been for Rowan’s benefit.

It was a Diane von Fürstenberg wrap, black with tiny little daisies all over it. It gave me great cleavage, skimmed my hourglass figure perfectly, and ended mid-calf.

I’d paired the dress with a pair of wedges that had straps going up my ankle.

I’d spent a little more time on my hair this morning, trying to make my messy bun look effortless and sexy. And everyone knew an effortless looking bun took about three times longer than normal. Then I’d pulled strands down to look casual around my face. I swiped on some tinted moisturizer that made my pale skin look glowy and blush high on my cheeks.

Yes, I’d dressed for Rowan. Sue me.

Rowan liked the dress.

He made that known with the look he gave me. And by the way he grabbed on to me the second I made it to the kitchen, kissing the absolute heck out of me.

Then he’d made it known by murmuring, “Fucking love the dress, baby.”

It seemed Rowan was not the kind of man to hide his feelings, nor was he the kind of man to keep praise to himself.

And he made me coffee.