Page 21 of Welker

She hoped she could follow through with that declaration. There was no doubt she’d relive some of those moments on the roof as she searched for forty-winks.

“Okay.” He shrugged. “If you need me…”

“I know where to find you,” she replied.

“Right. And don’t worry about your safety. The property might still be a work in progress, but I have security measures in place.”

Moira wanted to ponder that; why Welk would install surveillance before his place was even finished, but she was too tired to think about it, so she simply agreed. “Got it.” She gestured to the door. “I’ll see you in four or five hours.” She figured that’s all she’d sleep with morning already breaking. The light coming in through the unshaded windows would make that a certainty.

“Okay. Don’t rush. Mason texted and said the team would meet at your house for clean-up at three this afternoon. That’s ten hours from now.”

Moira yawned again, sure that her back teeth were visible because her jaw had opened so wide. “Great. I’m ready to crash now, Welk,” she slurred.

“Going,” he said, and backed out the door. “Good night, Moira.” He closed the portal gently behind him and Moira snickered.

Night had long-since passed.

Moira stretched on the comfortable mattress.

Damn. Welker had sprung for a sweet bed, unlike hers at home, which had come from a major discount warehouse and was now slit from top to bottom, thanks to the fucking MC. The puffy-perfection she’d slept on, sure had put her out for the duration…or perhaps that had been her overtiredness. Whichever. She could sure get used to this lap of luxury. Maybe she’d buy a new mattress that cost a little more next time…

Moira turned over and buried her nose in the soft sheets, loving the smell of Welker’s laundry detergent. She’d caught whiffs of it on his clothes before, and it made her feel like, if she opened her eyes, he’d be right next to…

Moira blinked her orbs open.

Whew. No Welker.

At least she hadn’t been so tired that she’d somehow, inadvertently welcomed the man into her bed. That would have been…interesting? Welker was definitely sexy as hell, and he’d been so nice to her with all the shit that had happened. But even if she did want to invite him into her bed…which she definitely didn’t…them being teammates would put the nix on that. Moira couldn’t imagine getting naked with the man, then watch him move on to his next conquest while she continued fantasizing about his fine ass.

His fine ass…

Right. She’d tried hard not to, but she’d definitely noticed his pretty glutes…all round and muscular. A far cry from Jory’s boyish, slender cheeks when they’d long-ago hooked up. She’d also witnessed Welker in beast-mode on the mats when they trained. His abs, pecs, quads, bis and tris were all outstanding.

But… So what? Right?

Moira stretched again, and caught sight of her watch.

Shit!

She bolted upright.

How the hell had she slept for eight hours? When was the last time that had happened? Moira was generally a six-hour snoozer without exception.

She collapsed back onto the mattress for a moment, confused. Why…? It had to be the smell. Welker’s smell. It made her feel…safe.

Huffing at herself, Moira threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. Her naked legs. Yup. She remembered thinking last night that there was no way she was going to soil clean sheets with the dirty sweats she’d been wearing during her roof-top foray. And she hadn’t had the guts to go after Welker once he’d left the room to request more sweats, or the clothes he said might have on site, so she’d stripped down and slept without.

Moira had to admit, it was a nice feeling; reclining nude. It was probably the Egyptian cotton sheets; a luxury she hadn’t afforded herself since she’d left her father’s house.

Spying a pile of clothing that hadn’t been in the room the night before, Moira grinned. Welker must have snuck in while she was asleep, and left them. Another first, not waking up when someone breached her space.

Moira walked over to the chair upon which the clothes sat, and picked them up. Not sweats, she grunted. Tight-ass, work-out clothes. Stretchy material, in black. There was a fitted, long sleeve shirt, and…leggings? When the hell had she ever worn leggings?

Never.

But what choice did she have? The clothing she’d tossed onto the floor before getting into bed, was MIA.

Fucking Vestore. He’d taken them to clean, obviously. Sweet, but completely unnecessary.

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