Page 57 of Charmed

She made a quiet noise he couldn't decipher, tracing patterns on his collarbone with her finger. "Normally, this is where I get dressed and leave."

Him, too. After that night in her bedroom, though, he'd wanted to wake up with her beside him, sleep with her again in the literal sense. Not once had it crossed his mind that she wouldn't stay. His gut bottomed out. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"Is that what you want?"

A question with a question. Why was he surprised?

"No." He kept stroking her hair, following the elegant curve of her spine. "I'm not liking the idea of you getting dressed or leaving."

"Okay, good. I didn't want to sound girly and admit that first."

She did that a lot. Took his words and twisted them or turned them back on him. Sometimes it was out of sheer sass. Most often, it was to gauge his reaction in order for her to respond, or so he was learning. She may trust him in perilous circumstances or with her body, but she didn't trust him with her feelings. Not yet, anyway.

"You can tell me anything, you know. I'll never hold it against you. Even if I did, you could just beat the crap out of me."

"True. I'm liking the holding it against me theory better. Innuendo implied. Let's elaborate on that." She yawned. "After eight hours of shut-eye. And a pot of coffee. In that order."

"As you wish."

"If you keep quoting The Princess Bride, you'll get me horny again."

Laughing, he leaned forward and snatched the blankets. "Got a thing for that movie, huh?" He laid back, taking her with him, and rolled them on their sides so they faced each other. "Rodents of unusual size aren't typically an aphrodisiac. I should talk, though. If you started referencing The Hobbit, I wouldn't last five seconds."

"Shh. I said I was tired." She snuggled closer, sharing his pillow. "’Your lullaby would waken a drunken goblin.’" Eyes closed, she grinned.

Dear God, she'd done it. She'd quoted The Hobbit. "You might be the perfect woman, you know that?"

"Might be?"

"I'm reserving judgment to see if you can cite The Godfather."

Though her eyes were still shut, he swore she rolled them. "’Leave the gun, take the cannoli.’"

"Mary Mother, you are perfect." Grinning, he traced her cheek with his fingertips, then kissed her nose. "Utter perfection, babe."

Chapter Sixteen

Fiona snatched her borrowed PJs off Riley's bedroom floor and tiptoed into his adjoining bath. She was becoming a Master Jedi at slipping out of bed without waking him. Two for two so far.

It figured she could fit the den at her house into his bathroom. Like his bedroom, it was decorated in cool tones. Smoky blue-gray walls, navy towels, and a slate his-and-hers vanity. Which was interesting because he didn't have a her. There was a large jacuzzi tub that could easily seat four and a frosted glass-encased corner shower stall.

It smelled like his cologne or aftershave. Woodsy. Masculine. She glanced at his toiletries, pieces of him, and imagined what her things would look like next to his.

Geez. No, no. Enough. Quickly, she brushed her teeth with her finger, dressed, and headed downstairs.

Tristan was propped against the counter in the kitchen, and she halted mid-step. He seemed both oddly at home and out of place among the polished white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, cobalt marble countertops, and checkered flooring. Like a king in servants' quarters.

An island split the room between them, and she was glad for the barrier. She hadn't expected him to be home.

His gaze skimmed down the length of her and back. Amusement lit his eyes as he drank from a travel mug. "Good morning."

"Hi. Just so you know, these are Kaida's jammies."

"Uh-huh. They're...adorable."

"Adorably disgusting." She moved deeper into the room and poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe. Leaning against the island, she faced him. "And this isn't a walk of shame, either. Because I'm not, you know, ashamed."

He scratched his head. "Never understood that term. If you make the choice to sleep with someone, own up to it."

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