Page 23 of Forever in the Country

Baths make me think of Sorren, and my imagination has no shortage of material of him soapy and soaking wet. Our trips to the spa had resulted in him commandeering my tub on occasion to soak in the hot water. He claimed it helped his calf after a long day and I couldn’t argue with that.

Growling, I snatch my phone from the counter, stomp through my bedroom, and yank open the door.

And stop dead in my tracks.

Sorren’s massive form unfolds from my couch as he sits up and looks at me. He’s wearing only a white cotton T-shirt and boxer briefs hidden under the blanket I keep over the back of the couch.

It’s my favorite and I gifted myself the blue flannel monstrosity two Christmases ago.

His pants, dress shirt, and jacket are draped over the recliner, and I know he’s assessing me just as much as I am him. I have so many questions and part of me is pissed that he crashed on my couch.

Not because he slept here—he’s slept here before—but he should have used the guest room. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to sleep there and it hurts my heart.

“You can sleep a little longer or I can make coffee,” I say as his eyes finally meet mine. The truth is I don’t want to fight with him even if he is so beautiful it leaves me breathless and wanting.

So much wanting.

“I just wanted to know you’re okay,” he says, his voice thick with sleep making it sound more gravelly than normal.

Suppressing a shiver, I paste a soft smile on my face. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I know he’s not talking about my limited alcohol consumption, and a part of me regrets the words when the emotion in his eyes disappears completely.

“I don’t want you to be late. I’ll lock up, or just give me two minutes and I’ll be gone.”

He doesn’t wait for my answer, just stands and lets the blanket drop to the couch. I avert my eyes as I hustle into the kitchen and then shamelessly look at him over my shoulder for a full three seconds and practically whimper.

The material of his boxer briefs ismoldedto his ass and thighs and it’s all muscle. So much glorious muscle I can’t touch.

And now it’s weird.

This morning is weird, I’m being weird, and now, so is he.

I slam two travel mugs onto the counter.

Sorren clears his throat behind me, and the sound has my shoulders climbing up toward my ears. He notices because he lets out an almost silent curse.

“I’m just going to go,” he says.

“You’ll wait for coffee.”

“Rhea—”

Spinning, I slam my hands onto my hips. “You willwaitfor coffee.” I bark the words and I have no idea why.

“You don’t need to do that. I can just—”

I point at the coffee pot behind me that’s hissing and dripping as the deliciously rich scent fills the air. “No.”

The corners of his lips twitch just the slightest bit as he holds his hands out in surrender. “I’m not tryin’ to make more work for you, Sunshine. I just wanted you to be okay.”

He’s rumpled and sexy and I hate that I want to climb him when that’s the last thing he wants. He’s mouthwatering and I’m grouchy and look only slightly better than the living dead.

And I’m wearing makeup. Life is so unfair.

“Don’t call me sunshine. I’m nobody’s sunshine,” I snap because on top of everything else, I’m defensive and hurt and lacking caffeine.

“You’re my sunshine,” he says quietly as he takes a step toward me then stops. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you need.”

Any of the fight still coursing through my veins dissipates, and my shoulders sag because losing him makes me feel like I’m going to throw up.

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