Page 105 of A Little Tempting

“I don’t have sex in my bed,” I interrupt.

Damn, this girl’s cute when she’s flustered and talking about sex? It works like a charm.

Her brows bunch as if the s-word rendered her speechless. “Huh?”

“I said, I don’t have sex in my bed, so you don’t have to worry about crusty sheets.”

“Technically, it’s none of my business.”

“And technically, I want to make it your business,” I argue. “So let me.”

The wrinkle between her brows softens, and she lets out a quiet exhale. “Reeves…”

“You won’t find any crusty sheets in here. Promise.” I lift my chin toward the bed. “Take a seat.”

Carefully, she sits on the edge of the bed. Her mouth twitches as she takes in the room with fresh eyes.

“Something funny?”

Tearing her attention from the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall, she asks, “Have you always been a sucker for movies?”

“Have you alwaysnotbeen a sucker for movies?” I toss back at her.

“I like movies.”

“Yet you never know what I’m talking about when I quote them,” I point out.

Her fingers brush against the side of her head. “After the accident, it took a few years until I could watch anything on a screen without getting a migraine or feeling nauseated,” she explains. “What’s your excuse for your obsession?”

“You caught that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “I’m not the only one who’s easy to read, Oliver.”

Oliver.

Fuck, I like the way my name sounds when she says it.

Squeezing the back of my neck, I debate how much information I should throw at the girl. Giving in, I explain, “You could say some of my favorite movies were more like a parent than my dad ever was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Movies were my escape growing up.” I pause. “Actually, they’re still my escape. Do you want to watch one?” I motion to my black eye, adding, “I kind of had a shit night.”

Her curious gaze bounces around my face a few times, but she nods softly and scoots over, leaving me some room on the bed to sit beside her. After turning on a movie, I steal the offered space and lift my arm to wrap around her shoulders when she stops me, grabbing my hand and assessing the damage along my knuckles. Her bottom lip juts out as she softly drags her fingers against the split flesh from the bastard’s tooth cutting into me.

“You’re cute when you worry about me,” I murmur, fascinated by the concern in her aqua depths.

“It isn’t funny.”

“Never said it was funny.”

Her gaze flicks to mine. “I can hear the amusement in your voice. Your knuckles haven’t even had time to heal from Homecoming.”

Sobering, I cup her cheek with my other hand. “I’m fine, Dylan. Promise.”

“What happened?”

With a sigh, I scratch my temple. “My client’s ex didn’t like seeing me with her.”

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