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  She tapped the solid muscles of his chest and smiled at the sharp intake of his breath. “You might know me too well, ace. How did I let that happen?”

  “Maybe we both got lucky.”

  She stared up at him like he was another trivia question to figure out. But she didn’t have any answers for why her body pulled toward him. He was just gravity, this force she couldn’t explain, couldn’t control. “Lucky, huh? Maybe.”

  Gabe cut the car engine in front of Bex’s house, and his car ticked quietly in the crisp night air as the engine cooled.

  It was a relief that he’d taken care of her, bringing her through the streets of Las Vegas to home.

  “This is me,” she said. She ran her fingers over the strap of her purse but didn’t move to open the car door.

  “Nice place.”

  Out the passenger window, Bex’s house sat like a familiar friend. It was a one-story stucco number with a tile roof and a Canary Date Palm hunched in the shadows of the front yard.

  “It’s small, but it’s all mine. Including the mortgage.” She grimaced. “Sorry, talking about house payments is super lame of me.”

  He grinned. “Welcome to adulting.”

  Bex huffed out a laugh, which dissolved into a breathless feeling. Gabe was here, at her door. Maybe she should have fun, just like Emma had suggested.

  Instead of pushing Gabe away, she smiled. “Want to come in?”

  He flashed those dark eyes at her. How could they be so extraordinary and also so familiar?

  Her heart pounded under the heat of his gaze, her nipples tingling.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded, and his low groan of approval went straight to her core.

  Fuck.

  She still really liked him.

  Bex led him to her front door, the night air blurring around her, her legs still unsteady from the beer. That’s what winning Trivia Night could do to you. She wanted to hold Gabe’s hand, but she didn’t close that space between them just yet. Still, she could feel him at her back, warm and steady and inviting.

  More than warm—he was hot. And the memory of her night with him came back to her now, pressing and urgent. She wanted to kiss him.

  Instead, she kicked off her shoes inside the front door and offered him a tour. She avoided the dining room as she led Gabe to her bedroom, threading through the living room toward the back of the house. Perhaps she should spare him the sex toy cabinet for now, on the off chance Emma was right and the men she invited into her bed didn’t want to compete for her attention with an army of silicone aces.

  Bex arrived at her bedroom with Gabe in tow, then leaned her back against the doorframe to look up at him.

  “Want to come in?” Her voice was a husky whisper, and he swallowed hard.

  “What do you want Bex?”

  She turned and walked into the room, arranging her body on the bed. “Hmm.” But instead of seducing him, her noncommittal hum made a flash of frustration cross his face, his features pinched.

  “Okay, honey, here’s what’s going to happen.” Gabe took a step forward, and the world stopped. He was going to kiss her, to put those hands on her again, and her whole body wanted it with a singular desire. “I’m going to help you get ready for bed,” he said, “and then I’m going to head home. Okay?”

  What? No.

  Gabe had said he wanted her, and what guy turned down a girl late at night in her own freaking bedroom?

  Bex lifted a shoulder but didn’t say a word. Why did this feel like such a crushing disappointment?

  “Where are your pajamas?” he asked.

  She nodded at her dresser. “Third drawer down.”

  She bit her lip as Gabe combed through her dresser with gentle hands. He held up a negligee with a smirk. It was barely more than a scrap of black fabric with a lace-up back, and why she had bought it when she never spent the night with anyone was beyond her. Maybe she’d just wanted to imagine wearing it—to feel pretty on her own. The outfit still had the tags.

  Gabe lifted his eyebrows and returned it to the drawer, instead pulling out a pair of sleep shorts and a v-neck T-shirt.

  “Cozy clothes,” he said.

  Bex made a face. If he was interested so in sleeping with her, why the hell was he putting her in that outfit? She grabbed the clothes from him and slipped into the bathroom to yank them on.

  Gabe was not, as she had hoped, on her bed when she emerged, but rather across the room, slanted in the doorway to the hall.

  “Gabe?” she whispered. “Will you stay?”

  He ran a hand over the back of his head, tousling his dark hair. The hesitation in his eyes felt like a judgment, and she rubbed at the knot in her chest.

  “You can sleep here,” she said.

  Who was she? This wasn’t a thing she did. Asking a man to stay the night—begging, even. She turned away, disgusted with herself.

  “God, I want to, Bex.”

  She looked over her shoulder into Gabe’s bottomless, dark eyes. Her pulse sounded like a rush of water in her ears.

  “So just do it.” She pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets, propping herself on one elbow to catch his eyes. “Sleep with me.”

  Apparently, she was a loose drunk.

  Gabe sighed and unfolded himself, reaching for the button on his jeans. She gasped as he pulled down the fly, and her mouth watered in delicious anticipation as the zipper opened tooth by tooth. Gabe smirked at her, then stepped out of his jeans.

  Dear lord. Maybe she had done something right in her life.

  Gabe stood before her wearing nothing more than a tight pair of boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. He rubbed a hand over those washboard abs of his and took a step forward.

  “Only sleeping, okay? You’re sloshed, and I’m keeping my hands to myself.” But, god, the sight of him in her bedroom, half-naked, was so tempting she almost broke the rules and kissed him.

  “Fine,” she huffed.

  The bed shifted under his weight as he slipped under the covers next to her. Gabe smelled like man, like the dregs of their drinks, like a promise.

  Bex sighed, and he spooned around her, his hard muscles locked against her back, pushing against her curves.

  “Is this all right?”

  “Yeah.” Her throat was dry. “I’m much better now.”

  Gabe smoothed a strand of hair back from her face and grazed his teeth along the shell of her ear before slipping an arm around her waist.

  “Sweet dreams, honey.” He reached over her to shut off the lamp on her bedside table.

  Bex blinked into the blackness, her body so alert and aware that sleep wasn’t an option. Not even close.

  Who was she trying to kid? She wanted him. She didn’t want to play nice—she wanted him to fuck her again, right now. Hard. To make her feel all the things that she knew he could deliver. But, true to his word, Gabe kept his hands to himself.

  Fine then. She ground her ass back against him.

  Gabe’s cock hardened against her bottom, and her eyes widened into the darkness of her room. The memory of his body in her hands swam back to her, his—ahem—full potential.

  “Easy, Bex.” A hiss of air flowed through his teeth, and his arm flexed against her stomach. “That’s not playing fair.”

  “I’m not trying to.” Her breath came out shallow in the dark, and her body in his arms felt full and heavy with arousal.

  His words were a growl. “When you’re not drunk, I will fully welcome your advances. I will fuck you till you’re raw if you ask me. But tonight is not going to happen. I don’t play that way.”

  “You’re no fun,” she pouted.

  “That’s not what you said the other night.”

  Touché.

  “Fine,” Bex huffed again. Mr. Chivalrous could keep his hands to himself. His cock still spoke volumes to her.

  Gabe leaned forward to press one last kiss on the back of her neck, sending a shiver down the whole lengt
h of her spine. Then he hooked his chin over her shoulder and rested his cheek on hers. And finally, somehow, with his weight on her body like a warm and drowsy hug, sleep came to claim her.

  Chapter 12

  He didn’t want to wake her.

  Gabe might have slept, he might not have. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes, a buzzing awareness filled his body. The woman in his arms took over all his senses, and early morning light spilled into her bedroom in a honey-slow advance.

  His eyes made a lazy pass through Bex’s room—a picture of her looking effervescent in an emerald dress at what must have been Sam and Aderyn’s wedding, an iPad, a half-used tube of blood-orange hand cream—until at last, they landed on the alarm clock by the bed. Almost six-thirty.

  Bex’s alarm hadn’t rung yet, but he hadn’t seen her set it and it was a weekday. Better safe than sorry.

  “Bex.”

  She groaned, and her breath tickled his arm. Gabe couldn’t help but smile.

  How had he gotten here? How the hell did he have the control to stay so respectful last night? All he knew last night was that another one-night stand was only going to chase Bex away. He wanted more than just another night of drunken sex with her, and he was going to need to prove it.

  Bex, in her bed—in his arms—was an indulgence, and Gabe wanted to splurge. Right now, though, the weight of his indulgence was making his arm go numb.

  He eased his right arm out from underneath her, flexing feeling back into his fingers before touching her shoulder. She was so damn soft.

  “Bex, it’s six-thirty.”

  “I’m up,” she grumbled.

  “I’ll be right back.” The bed creaked its regret as he stood.

  Gabe slipped on his jeans and made his way back through Bex’s house, studying the artwork on the walls as he passed. His eyes skimmed over a photograph of the stars, and then another family picture with what must be her parents and a younger Sam. Near the front door, Bex had hung a framed piece of cross-stitched fabric with a honey badger silhouette, and another piece by the TV spelled out, “Home is where the wifi is.” You could tell a lot about a person by the art they hung, and Bex’s house felt like an extension of her—quirky yet inviting, warm and safe.

  The kitchen had to be close. Gabe stopped short in front of the dining room table, and a flurry of color pulled his eyes to an antique-style china cabinet. There, lining the top two shelves of the open hutch, stood an enormous and humbling display of sex toys.

  Jesus.

  It looked like someone had conveniently left this out of the tour last night. This must be what Bex meant when she said that she didn’t need anyone. Still, a dildo didn’t hold you at night. And last night, Bex had wanted to be held. No matter how much she seemed to be denying herself human connection, when you broke down her barriers, she longed for it.

  Gabe shook his head and strode into the kitchen, which Bex had decorated with yellow accents—an enormous teapot, hand towels the color of daisies. Why did she need alcohol to let herself get that vulnerable? If she was sober, he would have fucked her till sunrise.

  He rummaged around Bex’s kitchen until he found a Mason jar, then filled it with cool water from the fridge. Bex was still half-asleep when Gabe returned to the bedroom, so he set the water next to the alarm clock and moseyed back into the kitchen.

  He should get out of here, but still. This was Bex’s fortress and he was inside her walls. He’d be damned if he’d let himself get kicked out now.

  So he made pancakes. Nothing fancy—just from a mix he found in her pantry—but home-cooked.

  He was cracking eggs into a second skillet when Bex materialized in the doorway in a breezy blouse and crisp pants. She moved with the hurried air of a weekday morning, tapping on her phone as she entered the room.

  “Feeling okay, Bex?”

  She half froze, as if she hadn’t expected him to still be here.

  Gabe tried not to feel a sting of pain at the dismay on her face. “I figured there’s no better hangover cure than carbs.”

  She looked at him, deciding. “Except for hair of the dog.”

  He couldn’t help his smile. “True, but after your comment last night, I figured you might have work today.”

  She swept an arm down her body. “You figured right.” She stepped into the kitchen, and he nodded his head for her to sit.

  Why had this suddenly gotten weird?

  Gabe looked over his shoulder as Bex scraped back a chair and eased into it. He slid the eggs from the frying pan onto a plate and carried them to the table.

  “This looks delicious.” Her voice was so small in the room. At least she looked up at him, her eyes grateful.

  “Bisquick special. I hear you’re the kind of girl with an appetite.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Speaking of which.”

  Shit, they were going to talk about last night. Gabe knew it was going to be bad from the way she kept fiddling with her fork.

  “What happened last night?” Bex asked.

  His stomach dropped. Did she not remember? Had she been that out of it? If so, thank god he hadn’t made a move. But what must she think of him now?

  He took a seat across the table from her. “You were drunk, and I brought you home. Put you to bed.”

  “I know,” she said, and relief flooded through him. “But why didn’t you kiss me?” Her lips pulled into a pout.

  “Because you were drunk.”

  She flashed her eyes at him, full an angry sort of heat. “I wanted you to be rude with me.”

  “Another time, honey. When you can tell me in detail exactly what you want me to do.” He would make sure of it.

  Bex shook her head. “Maybe not.”

  Gabe’s shoulders tensed, and it wasn’t just from his awkward sleeping position last night. “What does that mean?”

  She waved her hand over the table. “This. This breakfast…it’s…nice. But, clearly, we’re not on the same page, here.”

  A note of frustration crept into Gabe’s voice. “Bex, when you were sober, you told me you didn’t want to sleep with me. But Drunk Bex, apparently, changed her mind. You’re damn right we’re not on the same page, here. I don’t even know what book we’re in.”

  Her lips twisted. “Good question.”

  He sighed. “I’m still learning this game, Bex. I don’t play it as well as you do.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. She narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. “Is that supposed to mean I’m a slut?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, no. It means you need to be clear with me. Tell me what you want. Without a social lubricant.”

  Bex crossed her arms over her chest, and all the heat sucked out of the room. “Right now I need you to clear out so I can get to work.”

  Gabe sighed again. “Right. Okay.” But wasn’t okay.

  He grabbed his car keys from the bowl by the front door. From here he could still see into the dining room, where Bex sat like a mannequin, staring at her plate. Her face was pulled into a frown, sad and frustrated and tired, and his shoulders dropped.

  He left her, there, with the pancakes on the table uneaten and growing cold.

  Chapter 13

  “Remind me again why I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?” Emma sat in her desk chair with a ten-inch, salmon-pink dildo in her hand. A few other toys crowded the surface of her desk, along with calipers and a scale.

  Bex frowned and leaned her hip against the wall. Standing upright still felt too heavy, and her head throbbed like she’d spent the night in a vice instead of in Gabe’s arms. “Because I messed things up with the one guy who was nice enough to not take advantage of me when I was drunk and half-naked.”

  Emma tsked.

  “Oh god, Emma. I made him sleep with me and then I kicked him out. And he cooked me breakfast.” She really was the worst.

  Emma grinned. “The old eat and run, huh? What’d he make?”

  “Pancakes and eggs.” Bex paused. “Wait. Wh
y’s that important?”

  “It’s not. I’m just hungry, and I already ate my emergency granola bar today.”

  Bex rolled her eyes. “You and food.”

  Emma lifted the dildo. “Tell me, this isn’t really the color you wanted, is it?” She eyed the toy suspiciously. “This has to be wrong. It looks like a sunburned dick.”

  Bex bit her lip and reached for the Pantone samples she’d carried from her office. “No, you’re right. Ten inches of roasted weiner. Who’s hungry?”

  Bex could appreciate the lighthearted banter, even if her stomach was somewhere around her knees right now. She dropped the Pantone chips onto Emma’s desk and rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand.

  “You look like you’re going to puke,” Emma said.

  Bex frowned. “I don’t even understand why I’m so upset. Because my ego got bruised when Gabe turned me down?”

  “Could be.”

  She glared at Emma. “It’s not like I was planning out my wedding to the guy. I don’t do relationships.”

  Emma shot her a knowing look and gestured at her with the offending dildo. “I know—you only do one-night stands. It could be that when Gabe wouldn’t sleep with you, he took away your chance to do the default thing you always do. And now you have to feel feelings.”

  Lord help her. Feeling feelings didn’t change things—Bex’s curse didn’t care that she’d loved her dad and mom, that she loved her brother. It still dealt those awful blows, took the landscape of her life and fucking bulldozed it. But no matter how much easier it would have been to shut Gabe out, he was under her skin.

  “Maybe I don’t want to feel feelings,” she grumbled.

  “You’ll get over it. Having good sex helps.” Emma dropped the dildo onto her desk. “And I don’t just mean with our sunburned silicone pal, here.”

  “Thanks, friend.”

  Emma smiled. “I’m here for you.”

  Bex knocked her head gently against the wall and fisted in her hands inside her pant pockets. “I just don’t know if it’s more embarrassing that he turned me down or that I got so drunk and desperate in the first place.”