Page 100 of One Wrong Move

While still asleep, in the morning light, and everything inside of me tightens at that realization. I didn’t have a chance to see him yesterday.

A stuttering breath, and then he’s flexing his arm around my waist, clearing his throat. Awake. Or about to be.

I hold still. Waiting.

What will he do when he wakes up?

Something warm nudges my neck, my shoulder. His lips? “Good morning” He sounds hoarse, rough from sleep.

“Morning,” I whisper back.

He clears his throat again, and the arm around me tightens even more. A second later, the erection pressed against my back is gone. Like he’d realized it too and shifted his hips away.

“Slept well?”

“Better than I should’ve, in a new bed and all,” I say.

His arm moves. Hand goes to my hip, and I don’t feel any less tense. Looking at him would solve all kinds of problems. But it might also start new ones, and right now, I don’t know what I want more.

I push into seating. His arm falls away entirely, and I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Look at the alarm clock. “It’s… nine o’clock.”

“Nine?” he repeats. “Damn. Didn’t expect that.”

“Can I shower first?”

“Of course.” His voice is still hoarse, but there’s something calm about it, too. Maybe he knows it’s what I need right now to still my racing mind. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks. Um, do you think our phones work now?” I stand up and realize I’m just in my panties and camisole, and the room is bright with morning light. I run a hand over my wild hair, suddenly self-conscious. It dried overnight, and I don’t know what it looks like.

Nate sits up against the headboard. His hair is mussed, his eyes heavy on mine. The cover has slid down to his waist, and there’s not a stitch of clothing to hide the breadth of his chest from view. The chest I slept against all night.

One of his knees is bent.

I wonder if that’s to hide his erection.

I wonder if he’ll take care of it while I shower.

And I wonder if I can ask him about it or if we’re going to pretend like nothing happened.

“Hopefully. I’ll call my mechanic while you shower,” he says. “I’ll get us out of here in no time. I promise.”

I nod. “Thank you so much.”

And when I emerge from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, he’s up. Fully dressed and standing with his back to me. The bed is made, both of our phones are charging nearby. Whatever Nate did or didn’t do in the silence of the bedroom is impossible to know.

I’ve put my hair up into a ponytail. It’s the best I can do with the wayward curls. When Nate hands me my phone, I try not to flinch at the bright screen. It had been sort of nice to go twelve hours without looking at it once.

“He’s on his way. My mechanic,” he says quietly. “I’ll check us out.”

“Can I go for a walk around the town?”

“Of course you can, Harper. You can do whatever you like.” I feel his gaze on me, and the softness of his voice makes me think of things done in the dark. Do whatever you like.

I swallow hard. “See you in a bit.”

The village of Ashcroft is tiny, but it’s cute. I snap pictures of the thatched roof on one of the houses and of a group of deer in a meadow past the village’s stone church. Stopping at a quaint grocery store, now open, I grab a loaf of bread and a bottle of juice. Something for the drive back.

I find Nate with two men by the Aston Martin when I return. The car has a new tire, but the three of them are deep in a discussion about the one that had blown. The wiry man at Nate’s right is looking down at the frayed rubber and shaking his head.

---