Page 68 of From Nowhere

He nods slowly, wetting his lips. “It’s nice to be seen.”

I wet my lips. “I underestimated things.”

“Oh?”

Again, I make a slow inspection of his bare chest. “Yeah. I, uh, didn’t know you had all of this.”

“All of what?”

I nod toward him. “Muscles and tattoos.” I clear my throat, meeting his gaze. “I would have worn something sexier.”

He chuckles. “Maren, you don’t have to try to be sexy. You just are.” He steps past me and locks his bedroom door.

My heart takes off, rattling my nerves.

“So, how was your day?” I step toward his black desk in the corner. Beside his laptop, there’s a silver-framed picture of Lola and a blond woman I assume is Brynn.

“Today hasn’t been the best day, but now that you’ve crawled through my window, I believe the anguish was worth it.” He rests his hands on my hips and kisses my neck.

I turn toward him because I can’t let him touch me with his wife watching. I think every woman should set that minimum standard, whether said wife is dead or alive.

“Sounds cryptic,” I whisper.

He slides my unzipped hoodie off my shoulders until it releases from my arms and falls to the floor.

“Parenting is challenging.” His fingers weave into my hair, and an ambush of nerves tingles my skin.

I visibly shiver.

Ozzy’s dark eyes narrow. “Cold?”

“Nervous,” I whisper with an equally shaky laugh.

“I’ve touched you before.” His mischievous expression doesn’t help my situation.

“I was high on adrenaline.”

“Then let’s wait for your nerves to trigger a little adrenaline.” He takes a step backward and sits on the edge of his bed.

My gaze flits to the television. He’s watching something with Jason Statham.

“Take off your clothes,” he says.

My attention jerks back to him. He rests his hands behind him.

My god, he’s sexy.

“Wh-what?” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do with my hands.

“Strip for me.”

My nervous laugh returns, and I decide it’s best to watch Jason Statham instead of Ozzy. “For the record”—I risk a glance at Ozzy, and he wets his lips just to torture me a little more—“I’m not usually this nervous. But your ex-in-laws are upstairs, and I assume your daughter is not far from this room. And I’m afraid I might be too ...” I twist my lips, rethinking the wisdom of confessing my fear.

This was a terrible idea. Grown-ass adults don’t sneak around like this. I meet a guy at a bar, and we do it at his place. No sneaking. No awkward moments like this.

“Too what?” Ozzy prods.

“Are they sound sleepers?” I chew the corner of my lower lip.

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