Page 32 of Tender Heart
Hell knows it was well earned.
After a light meal and a sit out under the stars, I rise from the outdoor chair with a groan. This old man is ready for bed.
“I’m calling it a night,” I say to Evie, who is currently reading a novel in the dark outside with a night-light, wrapped in a blanket.
She doesn’t respond, so I head for the house.
“Where are you going?” She looks up, confused.
She didn’t hear me. Must be a good book.
“Bed. You coming?”
As if we’re an old married couple. Not likely, but after that freezing night, she insisted I sleep in the bed and not on the bunk in the hut. I think she felt bad. Hell, I know she did. Who am I to argue? Being back in my own bed is heaven.
Catching the sarcasm, she frowns, staring at me for a beat before saying, “Just one more chapter.”
“Suit yourself.”
When her gaze returns to the novel in her hands, I push through the door and head upstairs. Stripping off, I make quick work of a shower and tug on my boxers and a T-shirt. I grab up the book on my nightstand and open it to the place the bookmark holds.
I start to doze off, and the old tome slides from my hands as I hear footsteps ascending the stairs. With a yawn, Evie walks in, novel in hand.
Hell, welooklike an old married couple.
The pillow wall dividing her side of the bed from mine knocks that notion out of the park. And when she pads to the bathroom to change and reappears in a summer nightie, I pluck up my reading material and stare at the black marks over the pages.
Words.
Look at the words, Cal.Not at the nightie that barely makes it past her ass. The satin material that sticks to her curves. Christ’s sake, at this rate, I’m going to have to hide a raging erection behind that goddamn pillow wall. Or use the book for a tent. She climbs into bed, rubbing moisturizer over her arms. Setting my novel on the nightstand, I get up and shut the door, not wanting the cooler morning air to tumble down and roll into the room tomorrow.
Half-erect, I shoot back under the covers before she can catch a glimpse. Sitting up, I lean my head on the headboard as she dons more lotion. Grinding my jaw shut and closing my eyes, I think of every horrid thing my mind can drag up.
Something drops. The mattress moves, and I open my eyes. She’s leaning over, the nightie ridden up to display the lacy red panties that cover her ass.
Sweet Christ above.
“You good?” I rasp.
“I dropped the lid... I think it rolled underneath?”
I slip out of bed and round the end. Dropping to my knees beside her, I duck down, searching for it. Sure enough, it’s sitting under the bed, right in the center. Swiping at it, I manage to grasp it. Ducking back up, I smack my head on the frame.
“Fuck!”
I rub a hand over the spot, the ache blooming.
“Oh, are you okay?”
Something red and silky comes into view. A hand brushes my forehead. Brown eyes laced with worry drop to find mine.
“Fine,” I rasp.
She’s too close.
“You want me to go grab some ice?”
“Nope, all good.” I go to rise, but her hand settles on my shoulder. We are inches apart. The lace-trimmed V-neck of her nightie and spaghetti straps expose her. But it’s my chest that’s plummeting with every fall. She’s too sweet. Smells too fucking good and...
