Page 40 of Smooth Sailing

I smiled at him. “Yep.”

He didn’t move.

I also didn’t move because he was staring at my mouth in a way no man had ever stared at my mouth before, and that gave me so many happy wiggles all over my body, I wasn’t certain I could move.

He broke the spell, came toward me, I scooted out of the way and he “dropped his shit” in my closet.

He then walked out of my room, and I watched every step, marveling that such a big man could hold that kind of forceful grace.

Hugger’s new spell was broken when Muzzle shouted, “Fish is getting cold, and I’m not slavin’ over this oil to present soggy-ass fish!”

This made me smile again because, call me crazy, but I was beginning to like these guys.

5

CRAP

Diana

It was the next morning.

I was dressed, ready for the day, and preparing for dinner that night.

When I’d come out earlier to start coffee, I saw Hugger on his back on my couch (which I’d made up with a sheet on the sofa, another for him to pull over him, a blanket and two extra pillows, and I’d also pulled off the back cushions—still, he engulfed the space).

He had an arm thrown over his eyes. And as far as I could tell, outside his boots being on the floor by the couch, he still had his clothes on from the day before.

Last (something I put right out of my mind the second my eyes landed on it), there was a gun lying close to him on the coffee table.

He didn’t move as I made coffee.

When I came back out, dressed and ready for breakfast, he was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the coffee table and sipping from a mug. His hair was messier than normal. Even his beard seemed messier than normal.

Both were fabulous.

More fabulous, he’d stripped the couch and everything was folded and tucked away on the floor on the far side so you couldn’t see it.

Bikers tidied.

Who knew?

He gave me a sleepy-eyed look (that was even more fabulous, by, like a lot), got up, and without a word, strolled down the hall to my room.

I made some oatmeal, trying not to think of Hugger in my shower when I heard it go on.

I ate it, failing not to think of Hugger, naked and slippery, in my shower.

I was getting out the Crock-pot when Hugger showed.

I ceased moving entirely when I saw him in a black tee stretched tight across his pecs, faded jeans, his hair wet and combed back from his face, making the handsomeness come out in stark relief.

Topping that, his quickly drying hair curled up at the back of his neck, which added a one-two-knockout punch of cuteness to his handsomeness.

“Do you want breakfast?” I forced out.

“Yeah,” he said, going direct to the coffeepot, and I sure was glad I made a full pot, because it was clear he imbibed his caffeine like I did.

“I have oatmeal,” I told him. “I can make you a smoothie. There’s also cereal.”

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