Page 70 of My Undead Heart

Light cracks through an opening in the window, blinding me with the rays of morning sunshine, and I tug my blanket over my head before Rick can attack my face. Only it’s not my bedding and the object next to me is not my cat, but another pillow.What did I—?

Shit. I fell asleep.Shit, shit, shit.

Among the top rules of keeping things casual and avoiding awkwardness is the unspoken expectation that sleepovers are not to be indulged in. Only Matt wore me out, pulling from me orgasm after orgasm until there weren’t any left. He’s good with his fine motor skills for a big wall of muscle, I’ll give him that.

Resisting the desire to bury myself, along with my major fail, into the softness that is Matt Haywood’s well rumpled bedsheets, I slink from his bed and listen for any trace of sound. He’s not here. Oh, thank God. It’s still embarrassing, but at least I can catch a bus to traipse back home, shower, and head straight to work where I can pretend this never happened. We don’t need to have one of those conversations and rehash exactly what last night meant.

Because it meant nothing. It changes nothing.

Right. Keep telling yourself that, Mia.

Damn it. It probably changes everything. He won’t want to continue our training. I won’t finish his website. He won’t get to wow me with another date. “Fuck!” I say to no one but myself because I’ve really gone and fucked up a good thing here. I enjoy spending time with Matt, but that’s gonna change now. It always does.

Damn you,Game of Thrones!

I’ve no idea what time it is, but I take a look out Matt’s bedroom window and surmise it’s still early. I need to get home and shower before I’m late for work.

My clothes are folded into a neat little pile near the bedroom door and I slip on my panties, bra, sweater, socks, and jeans. Taking a quick visit to Matt’s bathroom, I pee and try to tame down the mess that is my hair. There’s no comb but a benefit from sleeping with a guy who has hair long enough for a topknot is he’s got plenty of hair ties. Twisting my messy locks into a pile on my head is good enough. My eyes are framed with a bleeding raccoon look that rivals most crack whores so I also spend a few minutes washing the remaining makeup from my eyelids and face. Stealing a swig of mouthwash, I chance one last glance in the mirror. Yeah, that’s as good as it’s gonna get.

I open Matt’s bedroom door and step toward my boots. I can’t believe my luck, all things considered, that I’m making my escape without running into the man of the night. Oh, what a man, too. He’s the most generous lover I’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking. Even now my body heats remembering how well we fit together. His face as he came. God damn it.Enough, Mia.It’s time to get to work. Taking my boots in hand, I turn to sit on that glorious couch to zip them on.

“Oh!” My heart leaps into my throat at the unexpected view of Matt standing in his kitchen. So much for being in the clear. Wearing only a pair of snug fitting boxer briefs, his body is as spectacular as I remember.

“Hey, Mia.” His lips lift with that annoying as hell grin, the one that says I’m busted and he’s inside my head. It’s also the same one that gives him the upper hand.

“I was just ...”Running as fast as I can. Leaving before you could notice. Trying to avoid this very conversation.

“Trying to take a walk of shame without saying good-bye first.” His lips dare to tug with a smile but his gaze, it lights with all the memories of last night. Or at least that’s what it does for me. My stare flicks down to the couch and when it goes back to him I catch him doing the same. We were good together in all the ways that produce pleasure. That’s fact, not opinion, and it’s really difficult to not stomp toward him and demand we get in one more round before starting the day. Only I really do have to go, and in my experience morning sex encourages pesky little things like relationships and commitment.

Tugging at my sweater, I squeeze my thighs together and tell my lady bits to calm the fuck down. “Yeah ...” I draw out the word, glancing around his place, and appreciate once again the surprising cleanliness. “So, let’s not do this.”

“This?” His brow quirks up with that sexy stare. It’s the one that holds the knowledge, as if he’s in on a private joke but balances precociously on the edge of cocky teasing.

“Get weird. I know that’s the natural tendency, but let’s not.”

“The only time I want to ‘get weird’ with you is when we’re naked.” He stalks toward me, a man on the hunt and God, do I want to be his prey.

“Oh.” So not helping the horndog of a vagina I’m sporting this morning.

His fingers find their way to my hips, just above my jeans, and lift the sweater enough to rub tiny circles on the sensitive skin there. It’s a direct hit to my defenses and my eyes flutter closed as he whispers at my earlobe. “Yeah. You hungry?”

My chest rises and falls, each time brushing against his body. “Am I—?”

“Food. You put it between those fantastic lips. Chew. Swallow.” He steps back, and his smirk broadens as a groan leaves my lips. “Provides sustenance.”

“Food?” I gulp as I take in his practically naked body, knowing exactly what I’d like to have for breakfast.

His laughter, right from the pit of his belly, washes over me and fills the apartment with the joyful sound. “Not much of a morning person, are you?”

Finally.He asks a question I can easily answer. “Not at all.”

“Come on.” He steps forward, swings an arm around my shoulder as if we’re the best of buds, and leads me into to the kitchen. “So, I’m going to take a wild stab that you’re a coffee person.”

“Don’t tease unless you have some ready.” I sure don’t smell any in here.

“I’ll make you a cup right now. Sit.” He points to an empty barstool and my first instinct is to not. I don’t like being bossed around. He must read my expression because he amends. “Only if you want. Eggs?”

“That part of the food phenomenon you were explaining?” I prop my ass on the chair.

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