Page 129 of I'm Your Guy
I shake myself awake. “Whoa. Are we there? Is it time for the sex?”
He smiles fondly at me from the driver’s seat. “Maybe you should sober up a little first.”
“I already am.” As proof, I slide out of the car without getting tangled up in the sewing machine cord. And I follow on his heels from the carport to the front door.
“We have to be quiet,” I hiss. “Your mom is sleeping.”
“It’s fine, Carter.” He takes my hand as he unlocks the door. “I don’t think she’d be too surprised to know that you’ve been here overnight before.”
“She’ll think I’m a slut.”
He snorts. “You’re drunk.”
“Nope. Not anymore. But I’ve never slept with a client before you. It was a hard line.”
“I’ll show you a hard line.” He pushes open the door, closes and locks it carefully behind us, and we tiptoe across the living room.
Even in the dark, the house looks amazing. “Damn, I’m good.”
“Told you,” he whispers back. Then he nudges me up the stairs.
“I need a shower,” I say when we reach the bedroom. “And I left all my stuff in the car.”
“Get it in the morning,” he says as he hangs up his suit coat. “I have a toothbrush for you. Come here. Follow me.”
Dutifully, I shed my coat and shoes, and follow him into the bathroom. I expect to be pushed up against the nearest surface and mauled. I’m so ready for it.
But that’s not what happens.
He pulls a new toothbrush out of his medicine cabinet and sets a clean towel on the counter. Then he turns to me and catches my face in both hands. Aw, yeah. I love it when he does that.
He doesn’t kiss me, though. He strokes a thumb through my stubble and then kisses my jaw. Gently. “Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. Take your time.”
“What? Aren’t you joining me?”
I get another kiss on the jaw. “You seem a little fragile tonight. Take a shower and relax, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” Then he leaves me alone.
Fragile. That’s exactly what I’m trying not to be. Maybe when he’s got me on my hands and knees, I won’t seem so fragile.
I strip down and slide into the marble shower, where a fixture the size of a dinner plate that rains hot water down on my tired body.
As I’m finishing up, I have a troubling thought. I shut off the water, wrap a towel around my waist, and pad into the bedroom. “Tommaso?”
“Hmm?” He’s lying on his back in bed, his strong arms tucked under the pillow. The lights are low, casting shadows on his muscles. It’s quite a sight.
“You didn’t buy a fixer-upper,” I say, chasing drops of water off my skin. “You bought a house that was perfect. It didn’t need any work.”
“Yeah, so? I was in a hurry.” He rolls to watch me work, and his gaze dances all over my naked body. I’d enjoy that if I weren’t a little worked up about something.
I hang the towel up in the bathroom and then come around to the other side of the bed. “Look, I’m a fixer-upper. Lots of issues. And that’s not your style.”
“Oh, please.” He reaches across the mattress and pulls me into his body. “There’s nothing wrong with being a fixer-upper. I’ve been one all my life. And—unlike when I was buying a house—I’m not in a hurry. I’ll wait for you to fix all your leaks and repaint. I’m willing to hold a paintbrush, too, if you let me.”
For a long beat, I stare into his serious brown eyes. I love that gaze so much. And I wish I had as much confidence in me as he seems to.
But I’m all talked out, so I kiss his neck, because he likes that. And he runs his hands down my back.
My eyelids feel droopy. It was such a long day, that I’m fighting to stay awake. And Tommaso’s caress feels more soothing than sexual.
