Her small palm presses against the center of my chest, while her cheek rests against my arm. She’s even still clutching my hand. Something that makes an ache throb in my chest.
I’m trying to be a gentleman. I really, really am. But I also haven’t failed to notice how her sweatshirt has ridden up her mid-section. The way the waist band of her silky underwear is peeking out from her sweatpants.
Taunting me.
I want to do distinctly ungentlemanly things to Summer Hamilton. But I also want her to warm her cold feet up on me again. Anytime she wants. The thought of her being cold and uncomfortable infuriates me.
I want to take care of her, even though she doesn’t need taking care of.
It’s honestly really fucking confusing. It’s also a terrible fucking idea. But then, good ideas haven’t ever been my forte. Why start now?
She stirs, and I look at her shuttered eyes again. Soft lashes drawn down, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. I wonder if they show up on any other parts of her body.
My cock surges, and I don’t think I can blame my current erection on morning time physiology anymore. It’s just a straight boner because I want to bang my agent’s daughter.
And then snuggle her. Trace her freckles.
Goddamn. I scrub my face with my spare hand and berate myself for not sucking it up and sleeping on the floor—no matter how badly it hurt. It couldn’t have been worse than this realization.
I peel myself away from her, trying to extricate my tangled limbs and feelings.
But when I silently fuck my palm in the shower minutes later, I’m not all that sure I’ve succeeded. Especially since it’s her name on my lips when I spill myself on the base of the porcelain tub.
“You’ll be pleased to hear that while I was using the restroom on the flight back, Summer ordered me a glass of milk.”
Summer snorts and takes another bite of the scone in her hand.
From the opposite side of the breakfast table, Beau cackles over the rim of his coffee mug. “Summer, will you marry me?”
My brother asks in jest. But my caveman brain misses the joke. Instead, it sounds like my big brother is hitting on her, and I want to scoop her up and hide her away. Because Beau is everything I’m not. Heroic, organized, dependable, clean-cut.
If I had to pick a type for Summer, I’d envision Beau.
To prevent myself from saying something I’ll regret, I scald the back of my throat with hot coffee. To her credit, Summer just rolls her eyes. Which, pathetically, makes me feel better.
“You wound me!” Beau dramatically grabs at his chest. “Will you at least come out to The Railspur tonight?”
“Don’t you need to deploy again soon?” I interrupt.
“Trying to get rid of me, baby brother?” Beau winks at me, and I momentarily wonder if he knows he’s turning me into a jealous crybaby.
Summer ignores our antics. In fact, she’s been the picture of professionalism ever since that night we shared a bed. Not weird, or cool, or awkward, just . . . professional.
Over the past week, I’ve often wished she’d be a little less professional. A little more reckless.
“Rhett has an MRI at the hospital,” she says. “Then acupuncture at four. Then he has a teleconference interview. So probably not tonight.”
“You could come without him, you know?”
Summer smiles at my brother as she pushes out of her chair to stand. It’s a kind enough smile, but not a full one. Not the one I saw on her face when she cheered for me in the stands.
It’s the exact smirk that used to bug me. But now I see it in a different light—she thinks it’s a polite smile. It’s kind of the equivalent of a pat on the head.
“I could,” she agrees as she turns and walks away.
My eyes drop to her ass in her skin-tight workout pants. She might be short, but fuck me, the girl has curves in all the right places. Firm muscles. She reminds me of a gymnast in spandex.
“Let’s go, Rhett. It’s gym time.”
I groan and stand, still sore. Though I have to confess, this routine Summer has me on isn’t terrible. I feel better every day. My biggest complaint is that I’m getting professional massages rather than ones from her.
I dump the dregs of my coffee and leave the cup in the sink. Beau can fucking wash it, put that military clean streak of his to use for flirting with my babysitter right in front of me.
“Have fun.” He winks and hits me with a knowing smirk.
Dick.
I sneak my finger into my mouth and give him a big, slippery wet willy on the way past. And it’s surprisingly satisfying.