She raised her upper body and supported herself on one elbow, the sheet staying where it’d been, giving him a shadowed view of her tits. His mind filled in the blanks for the parts he couldn’t see, and even in the dim night, they were fucking first-class.

“I didn’t know you have a cat,” she said.

“He’s a son-of-a-bitch tom cat who goes asshole if he doesn’t get his dinner.”

That wasn’t a lie. Tito had been known to knock things off counters or shelves or claw the crap out of the area rug when he went too long without being fed. What made it a stretch was that it took longer than a few hours for Destructo Tito to strike. Cole had fed him later than usual Sunday morning, and the cat’s evening meal was only three or four hours delayed so far.

She didn’t respond, and the silence made him antsy. Since the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, he set his clothes on the mattress, dug out his boxer briefs, and put them on.

“You’re freaking out,” she said, not really as a question, as he pulled his jeans up.

He felt even more busted than he had when she’d woken up, but there was only so much dishonesty he could allow himself. Because it was Sierra, and dammit, he couldn’t help caring more than he wanted to.

As he sat on the edge of the mattress, he allowed himself to touch her hair, running his fingers through the ends, pushing a chunk of it back over her shoulder. “I’m not good with sleepovers, morning afters,” he admitted. “I’ve never stayed the night.”

Her surprise at that was tangible, as she moved her head minutely and he could just barely make out the wrinkle in her forehead.

“Never?”

He shook his head.

“You take women to your place,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Never.”

She sat up, losing the sheet completely, moving her legs crisscross style, and he was sidetracked by the parts of her that were hidden in the dark well between her legs.

“You sleep with women a lot though, right? I mean, just asking. It’s fine, part of your history. I’m just curious.”

“I sleep with women some. Wouldn’t call it a lot. That’d be Drake. The man-whore North.”

“Okay…” She was obviously struggling to grasp what he was saying, as if she wasn’t fully awake yet. “Staying till morning doesn’t mean you’re locked in. To us, I mean.” Her husky-from-sleep voice dipped lower and tugged at something in him, something besides the insistent member jutting uncomfortably into his jean zipper. “We don’t have to do strings.”