“I smell like sawdust and paint. I’m going to take a shower,” Holden said.
I dropped the shirt, forgetting for a moment he was still there. “In my bathroom?”
“Our bathroom. The other one’s torn to the studs.”
I didn’t like it, but this wasn’t my house. “Okay.”
He took a step away, then turned back. “You like the t-shirt from Molly’s Hot Stack. It was a breakfast place we ate at every morning on our honeymoon.”
My cheeks went pink as unbidden images flashed through my mind. I’d had a honeymoon with this guy. He’d seen my hot stacks. “Thanks for the fashion tip.” I selected a black polka-dotted short set and watched Holden finally shut himself in the bathroom.
As soon as I heard the spray of the shower begin, I threw on those pajamas, a frenzy of poking arms and legs, like someone was holding a timer. My fingers stumbled over buttons until everything seemed to be properly covered. I did not want this guy to see me in my naked glory. Turning down the bed, I found sheets soft as clouds and slipped beneath the covers. As long as Holden was still locked in the bathroom, I rifled through one bedside drawer to see what I could discover. There I found a Bible, a Rolling Stone magazine, and a dog-eared novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Clearly the left was Holden’s side of the bed. In the white table on my side, I found a pile of Smithsonian magazines, Nora Roberts’ latest, a crossword puzzle book, and a People. It was exactly what was in my bedside table at home. I should be comforted by finding some familiar things, but I was not.
Yawning, the toll of the day rolled through my body, and I rubbed my bleary eyes. I’d just rest my head against this pillow and close my eyes for a second. Problem solve my way out of this. Formulate a plan. Figure out how to reset my way out of this mess.
But there definitely wouldn’t be any sleeping tonight.
Chapter Eight
There was a man in my bed.
I was certain.
Only seconds ago my eyes had popped open at the movement of blankets, a dip of the mattress as someone crawled into the other side, followed by a deep, exhausted male sigh.
Shoot! I’d fallen asleep. My heart hammered as moonlight squeezed through the slats of the blinds, revealing I was definitely not alone in this room.
Then a heavy, muscular arm curved around my hip, and I jumped with a squeal. “Holden!”
“What?” His sleepy voice held no hint of a desire to vacate the bed.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Going to sleep.” The phone on the table beside me said two a.m.
“You’re in my bed.”
“Correction, I’m in our bed.”
Our. This was just getting rude. “You need to get out.” I sat up and clutched the sheet to my chest, as if I needed to protect my virtue with quality Egyptian cotton. “Get out please.” And what had he been doing until the wee hours of the morning?
He rolled over onto his back and slid one arm behind his head. “I’m exhausted, Annie. We’ll discuss your new territorial proclivities in the morning.” But he reached out, his hand aiming for my head. “Do you feel okay? Dizzy? Nauseous?”
“Stop groping me,” I quietly hissed in the darkened room. “You can’t sleep here.”
“Why not?” he asked just as quietly.
“Because…because…”
“Because you’re really from another planet, and Mrs. Claus beamed you here on a magic sleigh ride?”
“Was I drunk when I married you? Unconscious?” I flicked on the nearby lamp and watched Holden blink against the onslaught.
“Nope. Totally sober when you recited your vows to love, honor, and let me sleep.” Holden sat up, a bare-chested man with sinewy contours that flexed as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Annie, you’re safe here. You know that, right?”
No, I really didn’t. “Can you please sleep in another bedroom?”
“Would that be the bedroom full of your extra clothes or the one holding three-hundred square feet of new tile? “
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you can’t just—”
“No.”
“Fine.” Holden grabbed his pillow with excessive gusto. “Sleep well, wife. But tomorrow, we talk about this.” He climbed out of bed, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a ferocious scowl. “And call me if you need anything.”
I laid back down and prayed for sleep to overtake me, knowing I was asking the impossible.
Call me if you need anything…
Holden’s parting words seemed to skywrite themselves on the ceiling above me, forcing me to see them and pay them due attention. I’d been taking care of myself so long that even the thought of someone helping me gave me pause. Zachary and I had been two ships that passed in the night, two independent workaholics who rarely relied on one another for support. We were both too self-sufficient. Too strong…or too scared?
What would it be like to hand over your problems to a partner and rest in the comfort of their care?
Wyatt Thomas, my Mr. Right, could’ve been that person for me.
Yet somehow…I got his cousin.
Mr. Oh-So-Wrong.
Chapter Nine
“Sleep well?” Holden asked as I entered the kitchen the next morning.
“No. You?” He leaned against the scarred butcher block counter near a coffee pot and watched me cautiously as I approached. He wore a navy button-down shirt over khaki pants. I knew beneath those pants were probably some quirky boxers. If he’d used the master bathroom to get ready this morning, I’d somehow slept right through it.
“Slept like a dream on that couch. I feel like a new man after that restorative rest. So good, I’m willing to offer it to you tonight out of the kindness of my heart.”
I accepted his outstretched mug of steaming coffee and let the heat permeate my skin.
“How’s the head?” he asked.
I waited to respond until I’d had a few sips, allowing the glorious caffeine to sing to my taste buds and begin the lofty process of recharging my cells. “It’s okay.” Actually it hurt like I’d been brained by a refrigerator, but I couldn’t tell if it was from sleep deprivation, the injury, or both. “Did I dream it, or did you come into my room and creepily stare at me a few times?”
He turned back to the counter to add a splash of milk to his mug then regarded me over one broad shoulder. “Wyatt said to take pain reliever every four hours, and you did not dream that. Per instructions, I was checking on you because I’m a doting husband and wanted to make sure you weren’t incapacitated and foaming at the mouth on those fancy sheets.” His dry tone took on a softer quality. “And I’m worried about you.” He waved his coffee toward my outfit. “You look like you’re going to work today. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
From my closet I’d pulled out my trustiest work ensemble—a black pencil skirt, matching fitted jacket, a lacy camisole, and stiletto heels. “What else would I do today?”
“Stay home, get some rest, and try to recall the fact that you’re my adoring wife?”