When I'm Gone
Page 44

I wanted to melt into him. “You’re here,” was all I could say.
He nodded. “I am. We can talk about it tomorrow. Let’s get you back into bed.”
He was coming with me. This was . . . oh, crap. I was dreaming. I would have bet this was a dream. It was the only thing that made sense. I didn’t want this to be a dream. I wanted him to be here, dammit.
“Pinch me,” I told him, as his hand slipped to my lower back.
He frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“To prove I’m not dreaming,” I explained.
His deep chuckle made me tingle all over. “How about I do this instead?” he said, just before his mouth covered mine.
I had started to open for him when he gently bit my bottom lip with a small snap that caused me to jump. “See, baby? You’re awake,” he said, sliding his hand down over my bottom and squeezing it once before moving it back up to my lower back.
I wanted more of that, but he was once again leading me back to the bedroom.
“Why are you here?” I asked, when he straightened the messy covers and pulled them back for me. I crawled in obediently.
“Because I needed to see you,” he said simply.
I watched him take off his boots and unbutton his flannel shirt and throw it onto the chair. He was wearing an undershirt that fit so snugly I could make out every beautiful line of definition on his chest and back. When he turned to get into bed beside me, I pulled the covers back for him. I didn’t want him to think he still had to sleep on the top. He still had on his jeans. Those couldn’t be comfortable.
“You can take off your jeans. You’ll sleep better,” I told him, before he sank down on the bed beside me.
He paused for only a moment and then started unbuttoning his jeans. I felt his gaze on me as he did it, but I was too riveted to look at his face. His big hands quickly unzipped the jeans, and they slipped down his thick, muscular thighs. I had to gulp in air. I’d forgotten to breathe.
“You sure you’re OK with this? I can sleep in my jeans, baby.”
He was worried that I was freaking out over him being in his underwear. Well, I was freaking out but for a different reason. Mase Manning really made white boxer briefs look yummy. I had been panicked after breaking that mirror, so enjoying that first glimpse hadn’t been on my agenda that day But right now . . .
“I’m good. I mean, you’re good. I mean, I’m fine, and . . . oh, just get into bed,” I rambled.
Mase smirked this time. Then he slid in beside me, but he was careful not to touch me. I had reacted so badly to making out and touching last time that he was now gun-shy. But I wasn’t sure I had the nerve to make a move on him or ask him to do anything. The idea of it being all on me was stressful.
It didn’t matter. Not right now. Mase was here tonight, for whatever reason. I curled up to his side, and he pulled me in closer, but he didn’t do anything else. Glancing up at him, I could see his long eyelashes fanning his cheekbones. He’d already closed his eyes. Smiling contentedly, I closed mine, too.
The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was filtering in through the blinds, and Mase was now on his side, with me wrapped up in his arms. I tilted my head back to see if he was awake. His eyes were still closed, but his arms tightened around me as a small smile tugged on his lips.
“You awake?” he asked groggily then slowly opened his eyes and met my gaze.
“Yes,” I replied, feeling entirely too high on life for a girl without a job or money.
“Hmm . . . you want to tell me all about your week now or over coffee and waffles?”
Grinning, I pressed a kiss to his arm. “Is that your way of asking me to make you waffles?”
He shrugged, grinning like he knew he could get me to do anything. “Maybe.”
I kissed his arm again. “You have to let me up in order for me to do that.”
His head lowered, and he ran his lips gently over my forehead. “But you feel so good all snuggled up soft in my arms.”
I would agree that this was my favorite spot ever. On earth.
“Why don’t you tell me about your week now?” he said in a more serious tone.
He was asking me about my week like he already knew. “I talked to you last night on the phone. You know about my week,” I said, testing him.
“No . . . I only know what you’ve told me. I want the whole story. Nothing left out.” The teasing in his voice was gone now. He knew. That was why he was here.
“Who told you?” I asked, moving back, or at least trying to. His hold on me didn’t loosen.
“You should have,” was his reply.
“It wasn’t your problem.”
That got his attention. His eyes snapped open wide, and he moved fast. I thought for a second that he was getting up, but he flipped me on my back and put one hand on each side of my head and hovered over me. “Anything that affects you is my problem. You’re mine. Even if I didn’t know what happened that day. Even if Nan wasn’t my sister. This would be my problem, because it hurts you. It causes you pain.” His voice softened on that last sentence. He lowered his body, but he didn’t press against me. He nuzzled my neck for a moment, and my entire body came to life. A sensation of warmth spread through me. “When you hurt, it rips me apart. When you’re happy, I feel like I own the fucking world.”
This man was too much. “You have a ranch to run and a life in Texas. I didn’t want to bother you with this.”