Fuck. I’d hoped he hadn’t noticed that.
“And then you tried to flee so I have to deduce that you were conflicted over the kiss. That means that some part of you enjoyed kissing me.” Then he hit me with that pout again coupled with the most intense puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen. “Please can I kiss you again?”
“You’re trying to manipulate me.”
“Yes. Is it working?”
A little too much. “No.”
He grinned up at me. “Liar.”
“Just go to sleep, Byron,” I sighed, my tiredness getting the better of me. I slipped back under the covers and turned my back on him. Probably not the most sensible thing to do, turning my back on a notorious killer, but I didn’t want to succumb to the temptation to do something stupid like kiss the guy.
“Good night, Wilder,” Byron whispered. “You’ll be safe with me.”
I doubted that. I think I was in very real danger of being completely comfortable with this man in my space. I should havebeen drifting into a panic attack but instead, I drifted off into the most peaceful night’s sleep I’d had in years.
I awoke with a start. I felt cold and alone which was a strange feeling to have considering I woke up alone every day. There was a clatter of something coming from somewhere deep in the house followed by a shout of expletives.
The memory of last night filtered through my sleep-addled brain.
Byron was in my house.
He’d stayed the night.
The psychopath had slept next to me.
I was a fucking idiot.
I groaned and dragged the covers over my face, instantly regretting it. They smelled like Byron. The scent of his cologne and something that was just him. Musky and fiery and why was I still sniffing my covers like a creep?
There was another loud bang from the kitchen. I should probably go and check if Byron was alright, but he was a big boy. I’m sure he’d faced worse enemies than my oven. Besides, I really didn’t want to move. I felt blissful and rejuvenated.
Dear lord, did I owe my decent sleep to Byron fucking Blake? That was a little soul destroying.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Byron said cheerfully as he strode into my room carrying a tray. “Sit up, Wilder. I’ve brought you breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” I asked, a little dumbfounded. To be honest, I was a little distracted by his lack of a shirt.
“Yes. There wasn’t much in your cupboards. Or fridge, but I managed to scrape together the ingredients for an omelette.”
I sat up and blinked at him. “An omelette?”
Byron placed the tray on my lap then touched my forehead with the back of his hand. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes. You made breakfast?”
Byron nodded and rested his hands on his hips, drawing my attention to how low his trousers were hanging. My eyes traced his happy trail as it disappeared into his boxers—which I could see because his trousers were that low—and jeez, I suddenly didn’t want an omelette. I wanted to sink my teeth into his well-defined hip bones and lick my way up his ridiculously sexy V-line.
But this was Byron. There was no way in hell I was going anywhere near him.
Hopefully.
“Like what you see?” He asked with a smug grin in his face.
Yes. “No. Did you deliberately not wear a shirt just to try to distract me?”
His stupid smile widened. “I don’t know what you mean. I couldn’t find an apron, and I didn’t want to spoil my jumper while I made breakfast for you. It’s cashmere.”