Page 12 of Unintentionally Yours

Honestly, it was unfair for anyone to look that good this early in the morning. There ought to be a law.

“The morning after. They never tell that in fairytales, do they?”

Oh, the images those words aroused in her. A morning after with him. Which would imply she’d spent the night in his bed. Which technically, she had. Alone.

She sighed. That was the story of her life.

Finn’s lips twitched; a ghost of a smile that made Layla’s heart do a giddy little flip in her chest. His words also teased her curiosity. It transformed his face, softening the harsh lines and lending a boyish charm to his rugged features. She had a feeling he didn’t smile nearly often enough.

She found herself wanting to change that. Wanting to coax that elusive curve of his lips.

Dangerous thoughts for a runaway bride to be having about her impromptu host. But then, Layla was quickly learning that nothing about this situation was safe. Or sane.

Least of all, her own treacherous heart.

“Breakfast is ready,” Finn said, interrupting her wayward musings. He jerked his chin towards the kitchen before turning on his heel and padding away, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight.

Layla watched him go, transfixed by the play of muscle, the intriguing flex of his back and shoulders. There was a curious hitching to his gait, his left leg not quite keeping pace with his right. An injury, perhaps?

It reminded her of the scar cleaving his eyebrow, the silvered slash that lent his face a rakish, dangerous air. What had happened to him to leave such a mark? What kind of trauma, both physical and emotional, had shaped this solitary man?

Curiosity burned in Layla’s gut, the need to know, to understand, to unravel the mystery that was Finn Brody. But she tamped it down, recognizing the impulse for the distraction it was.

She had no business prying into Finn’s secret demons when she had so many of her own to confront. Starting with the reason she was in his bed in the first place.

Sighing, Layla tossed back the blanket and stood, grimacing as her body protested the movement. Apparently, a night spent tossing and turning, no matter how comfortable the mattress, didn’t agree with her.

Or maybe it was the unaccustomed exercise from her hike up the mountain.

She stretched, raising her arms overhead until her spine popped and the hem of her borrowed shirt rode up to expose the juncture of her thighs. Finn’s t-shirt was that large, even on a big girl such as herself. The fabric was warm and soft, worn butter-smooth with age and a multitude of washings.

It smelled like him, like pine and fresh air and something uniquely masculine. Something that made her want to bury her nose in the collar and just...breathe.

Layla gave herself a mental shake, telling herself not to get caught up in her own fantasies. Get it together, Bryant. The man had already done you a tremendous kindness by taking you in, no questions asked. The least you could do was refrain from creeping on his clothes like some kind of weirdo.

Neatly making the bed, Layla trailed her fingers over the forest-green quilt. There was a bittersweet pang in her chest as she took in his bedroom. The masculine furniture and the exquisite view from the windows that made up almost an entire wall.

She was going to miss this. Miss him. It was crazy, utterly nonsensical, to feel so attached to a place, a person, after such a short time. But there it was, this bone-deep reluctance to leave, to step back into the harsh light of reality.

But she couldn’t hide forever. As tempting as it might be to lose herself in this little haven, in the steadfast shelter of Finn’s presence...it wasn’t fair to either of them.

Layla had made her bed, as it were. Now, it was time to lie in it.

Even if a traitorous part of her wished she was lying in a different bed. This bed, night after night, with a certain surly, sexy-as-sin mountain man.

Nope. No. Bad Layla.

Giving herself a firm mental slap, Layla tugged on her borrowed pants from yesterday, squared her shoulders, and marched toward the kitchen, determined to face the day with grace and dignity.

The delectable scent of frying bacon slapped her in the face as soon as she crossed the threshold, making her stomach rumble and her mouth water. Finn stood at the stove, his broad back to her as he wielded a spatula with impressive dexterity. Heavy rain was drumming on the roof.

“Anything I can do to help?” Layla asked. “Everything smells amazing.”

Finn grunted a sound that could have meant anything. But he gestured towards the table with his chin, a silent invitation to sit and make herself at home.

Layla did so, perching on one of the chairs and trying not to ogle Finn’s truly spectacular backside as he manned the stove. It was a losing battle.

The man had an ass that wouldn’t quit, high and tight and perfectly proportioned to the rest of his impressive physique. And those sweatpants...Lord have mercy. They clung lovingly to every curve and hollow, leaving little to the imagination.

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