Chapter 17

Faye

I'm too warm. My pillow smells off. It seems softer than usual. And why does it feel like something is tangled around me? It's not my nightgown. It's heavy and tight.

Suddenly, I bolt awake, gasping for oxygen as fear consumes me. I sit upright so fast I make myself dizzy. My eyes are wide as I take in my surroundings. I have no idea where I am. Shit. Was I kidnapped? Drugged?

"Faye…" Someone touches me.

I jerk my gaze to the side, scared out of my mind.

"It's me, Faye. Easton. You're in my bed in my house."

I stare at him, trying to catch my breath as memories flood back. The roses… The club… The scene… Holy hell, I was naked in front of anyone who wanted to watch.

I grip my thighs together, arousal washing through me instantly at the memory. I don't remember anything after he released me from the ceiling.

Panic seeps in even though it's irrational. This is Easton. I'm safe. He wouldn't hurt me.

Easton sits up. He sets a hand gently on my back, drawing my attention to the fact that I'm naked. I never sleep naked.

I look around the room. The sun is up. The blinds are closed, but light is coming around them—enough for me to see clearly. I was seriously out of it when we got here. How did I end up in bed without any awareness?

He obviously undressed me. Did we…?

"Take some deep breaths, baby. I know you're confused. You were dead asleep when we got here. I carried you to bed."

"I'm naked."

"I undressed you, baby."

"Did we have sex?" I blurt out.

"God, no." He frowns. "I would never violate you when you weren't conscious, Faye. All I did was remove your street clothes, tuck you in, and snuggle against you." He pulls the covers down to his thighs. "See? I slept in my briefs."

I'm shaking as I slide back under the covers and pull them up to my chin. It's weird how I could let dozens of people see me naked and on the edge of orgasm last night, but now I'm shy in Easton's bed, where he's the only one who can see me.

He drops onto his side next to me, propping his head on his palm. He sets a hand gently on my hip. "You okay?"

"I'm not sure."

"You've been asleep nine hours. It's eight in the morning. What time do you usually get up on Sundays?"

I turn to look at him. Is he making fun of me? I don't think so. He looks serious.

He continues, "Faye, I want to adjust my schedule to help you feel comfortable. I also want to keep a close eye on you this morning. You're very suspectable to sub drop. I don't ever want you to come to the club on a weekday. You would never make it to work the next day."

I nod. He's right. I'm confused, but I don't feel as bad as I did last weekend when this happened. "I think I'm okay."

"Tell me what I can do to make you comfortable. What do you like for breakfast?"

I lick my lips. "Juice, eggs, bacon, and toast."

"Done. Tea?"

"Yes, after I eat. Do you have those things?"

"Yes, baby. I planned for anything, and I knew you liked tea. I got the same black tea I saw you drinking at your apartment and an assortment of herbal teas and green tea because you mentioned them when we were at the bakery."

I nod. "Thank you."

He's being so sweet. I'm totally out of my element, but he's trying so hard to make everything better for me. He can't begin to understand how fast my heart is racing or how hard this is for me.

I'm not in my apartment or my bed. I'm naked. I'm not used to sleeping with someone. I've never slept with someone in my life. Though apparently, I slept just fine with Easton.

I feel rested. I'm not as groggy as I was last week. "I think I'm okay," I repeat.

"Good. Do you want to take a shower? I brought your bag up from the car. Or do you like to eat first?"

I stare at him. He's really trying to be sweet. It's endearing, and it's working. He's helping me feel welcome. He needs input. He can't help me if I don't give him information. "I usually put workout clothes on, eat, and then go for a run if it's nice, or use my treadmill if it's cold or raining."

He smiles. "I can make that happen. I have a gym."

I gasp. "In your house?"

"Yes." He chuckles. "I'll give you a tour. I have a rather large home, Faye. Remember, Drake and I made it big at a young age and never stopped."

I nod. "So, do you work? I mean, like when you're not at the club…?" My face heats. That's a dumb question. I rush to cover it up. "Never mind. That's ridiculous. I'm sure the club is more than a full-time job."

He smiles and rubs my hip. "It's a reasonable question, baby. Drake and I are working on a new app. It's about half done. We work together at his house or mine during the week. We aren't in a hurry, but we're always working on something new as soon as we finish one. It sometimes takes about a year."

"Wow. You two are serious brainiacs."

He grins. "Says the woman with a PhD in biology."

"Well, my job isn't as lucrative as yours. I can tell you that."

"Your job is far more important, Faye."

I shrug.

"How about if I go downstairs and start breakfast so you can have some time to use the bathroom and put some clothes on."

I nod. "Thank you." Why do I feel so bashful and awkward?

He kisses my forehead and slides out of bed. I watch him as he heads for the bathroom. He doesn't even shut the door all the way, so I hear the toilet flush and water run in the sink. Then he's back. He opens a drawer, pulls out clothes, and quickly puts on a T-shirt and workout shorts.

He returns to me, leans his hands on the bed, and kisses me on the lips. "Take your time, baby."

I stare at the doorway for a long time after he leaves. It's like a storm went through here. I'm unsettled and nervous. I'm also grateful. He couldn't be more accommodating and charming.

When I think I can manage, I pull the covers back and slide off the edge of the bed. I spot my bag near the foot of the bed, grab it, and hurry into the bathroom, where I close and lock the door. We're seriously going to have to talk about this sleeping naked thing. It's not going to work for me.

I feel out of sorts, even alone in the bathroom, as I rush to use the toilet before yanking open my bag and pulling out tight yoga pants, a sports bra, and a tank top. The reason I packed these things was because I envisioned myself going straight home when I woke up and figured I might as well be ready to work out when I got there. That doesn't seem to be the way Easton pictured this morning going. Luckily, I packed jeans, a shirt, and a sweater, too, just in case.

I pull on socks and tennis shoes before facing the mirror. Sheesh. My hair is wild. It takes me several minutes to run my brush through it and pull it up in a high ponytail. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and stare at myself. I have on no makeup. I don't wear makeup to work out, but I don't work out with men, either. Should I at least put on mascara?

No. That would be silly. If he wants to spend time with me, he's going to have to get used to me without makeup. I'm not particularly obsessive about it.

I find my clothes from last night, tuck everything in my bag, and zip it back up so I won't leave piles of stuff all over his room. I stare at the bed for a moment and then can't refrain from making it. I hope he doesn't think I'm overstepping.

Finally, I take a deep breath and venture out of the room. I stop dead as soon as I step into the hallway. Holy cow. This house is huge. There are so many rooms. I head in the direction of sunlight and find myself at the top of a gorgeous ornate winding staircase.

I head down it, with my hand on the banister for balance, while I swing my head all around, admiring the chandelier over the foyer, the expensive tile floor, and the double front doors.

I knew Easton and Drake had made a lot of money, but it didn't occur to me how loaded they actually are. I follow the scent of bacon until I finally step into the kitchen.

My eyes are wide. Sheesh. It's gigantic. Easton lives here alone?

He must have heard me because he spins around, spatula in hand. He grins. "Hey. I hope you don't mind your bacon crispy."

"That's how I like it." I approach him.

"And your eggs?"

"Any way is fine as long as they aren't runny."

He has a carton of eggs on the counter and a bowl next to them. He nods toward it. "Want to whisk them for me?"

"Sure." I watch him pull the bacon out of the pan and put it on a paper towel. Grease has splattered all around the counter, but other than that, the kitchen is immaculate. "Do you normally cook?" I ask as I crack the eggs.

"No. Never." He winces. "I have a housekeeper. She does all the cooking."

I stiffen and look around.

"She's not here today. She usually works Monday through Friday and a few hours on Saturday. She leaves me meals for the rest of the weekend. I told her not to come in today because I thought it might make you uncomfortable."

I turn to him, hesitate, and then wrap my arms around his middle.

He sets the spatula down and turns fully toward me, embracing me in his huge arms. He kisses the top of my head. "I want you to feel at home."

I tip my head back and look at him. "You can't seriously mean for me to stay here more than a few hours."

He swallows hard and holds me tighter. "Baby, I want you to move in."

I gasp. "Move in? We just met." Panic seizes me.

"I'm not saying you have to do it today. I'll be patient. I'm just telling you so you'll know what my intentions are. If I had my way, we would go pack up your shit right now and move it in. But I know that's too fast for you. I won't rush you, but I won't hesitate to tell you how I feel."

"Might I point out we haven't even had sex yet?" I can't help but chuckle, though I'm shocked by my ability to do so when I should be in a full panic, running from the house.

He shrugs. "Semantics."

"You would make that kind of a commitment to a woman you haven't had sex with?"

"Yep."

"What if I suck at it? What if we're not compatible?"

"You won't suck at it, and we're already so compatible it's bonkers."

In a way, I know he's right. I've certainly never felt like this before. Still, I can't just move in. "Easton…"

He kisses my head again and turns back to the bacon. "Don't fret. We'll work it out. One day at a time. Eggs. Jogging. Those are our current goals."

"I think maybe we should add sex to that list."

He grins at me. "What time on Saturdays do you normally reserve for sex?"

I swat at him and turn to whisk the eggs before muttering, "Seven in the morning. You missed your window."

He laughs. "Dammit."

We finish cooking seamlessly together as if we do this every weekend. Thirty minutes later, we've eaten, cleaned up, and we're sitting in his amazing breakfast nook. I have my feet on the bench, my knees pulled up to my chest, and I'm sipping tea. He's drinking his second cup of coffee.

He scoots closer to me on the corner bench and strokes a lock of my hair that's dangling over my shoulder from my ponytail. "Tell me about the rest of your Saturday. What's the schedule?"

I take another sip of tea and set the mug on the table, dropping my feet to the floor. "It seems kind of silly when I think about it."

"It's not silly. It's who you are. I want to adjust myself to your schedule as much as I can. I want you to be comfortable in my home. I want you to be able to make this your home, too."

I meet his gaze. "I don't know how well I can share my life with another person, Easton, but I'll try. Just be patient with me."

"Okay, baby. Want to go work out?"