Chapter 11

Willow

WAKING WHEN I register light behind my closed lids, I blink my eyes open and stare at the expanse of Clay’s bare, tattooed chest that, at some point in the night, I must have decided to use as a pillow.

Last evening after he came back upstairs with dinner, we ate sitting in his kitchen, and there was no more heavy talk about his sister or Carly. Instead, we spoke about his trip to Colorado, where he went to check on a building he has that is being remodeled like the one here. We also spoke a little about my family, and his brothers.

By eight, even as early as it was, I couldn’t stop yawning. Between the wine, a full belly, and an adrenalin crash, I was done and ready to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. And seeing this, Clay ushered me into his room, gave me the toothbrush I used last time I was here – a toothbrush he saved like he knew I was going to be back – and a t-shirt to wear to bed. Then, with a kiss to my forehead, he told me to shower and go to bed—that he had some phone calls to make. And not feeling even a little awkward or anxious, which goes to show just how exhausted I was, I did just that. Then, with my hair still damp, I got into his bed. I sent a text to my parents checking in, then a separate one to my dad filling him in on what happened, because I know that, even if he doesn’t get it until they reach whatever port they land in next, that’s better than not saying anything at all, especially when he could find out the news from someone else. And after that, I laid down and apparently passed out before Clay even came back into his room.

Careful not to wake the man that I’m basically sleeping on top of, I slide my thigh off his, then move my hand from off his waist, and roll to my side so that I can check the time. As I grab my cell phone, Clay rolls into me, wrapping his hand around my waist, and curving his body around mine.

“What time is it?” he asks his voice rough with sleep.

His warm breath brushes against my shoulder causing goose bumps to crawl across my skin.

“Six thirty.” I set my phone down, then roll to my back. “I have to leave soon so I have time to make it home and get ready for work.”

He gets up on his elbow, looming over me, then slides his fingers across my forehead. “I should have taken you home last night to pack a bag.” His gaze locks on mine and his lip hitches up ever so slightly. “But I didn’t want to risk you changing your mind about coming home with me.”

“I wouldn’t have changed my mind,” I whisper, and he lowers his face toward mine and the first brush of his lips causes the muscles in my lower belly to clench and my eyes to slide closed. I grab onto him, not sure that I won’t float away when he deepens the kiss, and I whimper when his hand moves to my stomach just under my breast. I arch my back, silently begging him to slide his hand under my shirt to touch me, but he doesn’t. Instead he groans and drags his mouth from mine, leaving me with one final soft kiss.