It’s mid-afternoon,but there’s no sign of the sun in the pitch-black bedroom; the thick curtains have seen to that. I sit on the bed in the dark, feeling my thoughts spiral outward in a thousand directions. My knees are curled tight to my chest, my spine pressed firmly to the wood headboard. The sound of the shower running is the only noise to drown out my thready pulse.
He’s been in there for a long time. So long, I’m about to go check on him, just to make sure he hasn’t drowned, when I finally hear the valves shut off. A few seconds later, Conor walks in wearing nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips.
I inhale sharply.
His chest is a gorgeous display of chiseled muscle. Water droplets still cling to his wet skin as he strides to the armchair in the corner of the room and pulls a pair of gray sweatpants from the small black bag he carried in from the Jeep earlier.
I try not to stare —much— as he tugs them on beneath his towel. But, hell, I’m only human. And let me tell you, the deep V-lines of his torso are a sight to behold. My eyes track his movements, drinking him in like he’s a cold wheatgrass shot after a session of hot yoga.I’d say his body is a temple, but that wouldn’t do it justice. His body is a Wonder of the World, right up there next to The Taj Mahal and the Great Pyramid.
He dries his hair with the towel as he walks toward the bed, eyes locking on mine as the space between us shrinks from feet to inches. I hardly dare to breathe as he sinks onto the other side of the mattress.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he returns gruffly.
I search for something else to say to him, but my mind is one big blank. I’m exhausted, down to the marrow of my bones. Emotionally, physically. I could sleep for a thousand years; it still wouldn’t be enough.
Conor must be feeling the same way, because without another word he stretches out on the bed and promptly closes his eyes.
Goodnight to you too, Gallagher.
Leaning back against the headboard, I take the opportunity to study the planes of his face. The noble slope of his nose. The lushness of his lips. The clean-shaven jaw. I’ve never seen him without a beard or stubble before. The effect of that jawline in all its naked glory is undeniably hot.
“You’re staring,” he says without opening his eyes.
I flush and glance away. “I was not!”
“Whatever you say, Hunt.” His lips actually twitch, the first sign of life from him since he walked through the door earlier. I’m so relieved to see it, I barely care that his amusement is at my expense.
He cracks open one blue eye and peers over at me. “You planning on sleeping sitting up?”
“Maybe,” I say, just to be ornery.
He watches me, waiting.
With a resigned sigh, I scoot away from the headboard, stretch out my limbs, and roll onto my side so I’m facing him. “There. Happy?”
His eyes are closed again, but his mouth is curled up at one corner in the hint of an undeniable smile. “Depends. You planning on sleeping in that dress?”
I huff. “If I want.”
Another lip twitch. “Suit yourself.”
We’re silent for a moment, simply lying there in the darkness. My eyes close and I think I might actually fall asleep… when he interrupts me with another query.
“You also planning on sleeping in all that makeup?”
I startle. I’d forgotten about my smoky eye and red lip combo. My mouth opens to fire off another snarky response, but instead I tell the truth. “Actually… no. I hate waking up in the morning wearing day-old makeup. I just forgot I’d put it on this morning.”
“Don’t know why you bothered.”
“Excuse me?” I narrow my eyes at his tone. “What’s wrong with my makeup?”
He sighs and shifts his head on the pillow to meet my angry stare. “Nothing wrong with it, per se. I just don’t think you need it. Faces like yours… ”
My eyebrows arch.
“Let’s just say, a priceless work of art doesn’t need a filter or an expensive frame to make it invaluable,” he murmurs.