Page 6 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
“No.”
Shit. “Are you gay?”
A sharp bark of laughter escapes him, surprising us both. “That would be a no.”
Okay, my ego takes a blow. Not that I’d wanted to have intoxicated sex, but the dude could’ve looked pained that we didn’t have sex. Especially if he isn’t gay.
“Why did you stay the night?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
This is followed by a moment or two of silence as I try to figure out if he is serious or not. From his bewildered expression, it seems he is.
Huh. A hot, rich guy who blushes and is an actual gentleman. This man could be my kryptonite.
“You should leave.”
He blinks, and his open expression closes down, giving me nothing.
He stands, and I really wish I’dbeen sitting down, higher ground be damned, because as I take in his body, from the strong lines of his shoulders down the planes of his defined abs to the length of his solid muscular thighs, my legs suddenly feel weak.
I despise weak.
Turns out he isn’t naked. He has on black boxers with orange pumpkins on them. They’re ridiculous.
I love them.
Holt turns and gathers up his jeans and shirt that are folded neatly by his side of the bed.
I have no idea why, but I find the thought of him taking the time to fold his clothes before going to bed completely endearing. I shake it off.
He dresses methodically, in no rush, even though I am effectively kicking him out after he’s done nothing but look out for me. I watch every muscle twitch and bunch in the process of his dressing. I’m aware that I am probably being a total creeper in addition to Bitch of the Year, but I shake that off too. He’s seen me in all my glory, not once, but twice, thanks to the robe malfunction, and it’s rare that one is presented with such a magnificent specimen of a man. I’m going to look my full. I’ll put it in my spank bank for later.
Holt straightens and walks toward me. I find myself trying to fold my arms across my chest, curse myself and force them back down to my sides.
He stops with two inches between us. I’m five foot nine and a half inches. I’m tall for an astronaut and a woman, and I’ve always relished the advantage my height gives me. I don’t have that advantage now. Holt has to be well over six feet.
“Yes?” Shit. I sound breathless and all ‘take me now.’
“Bathroom.” His nostrils flare. “Or will me hitting the head take up too much of your time?” His voice is smooth and hard, like the sound of a blade sharpening on a leather strap. My nipples harden under my robe.
“Uh, yes. I mean, no. No, of course not.” I step to the side and wave my arm in the direction of the bathroom. “By all means.”
He says nothing but walks into my small ensuite and closes the door.
I don’t know how long he’ll take, so I can’t take the chance of getting dressed while he’s in there. But I also can’t stand there listening to him pee. That’s just weird. Even for me.
I hurry the few steps into my kitchen. A kitchen whose sole purpose is to hold my Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University, United States Air Force, and NASA coffee mugs along with the finest Hawaiian Kona coffee one can buy. So much better than that weak coffee-water available on the ISS.
I pluck the Air Force mug from the cabinet and start running the coffee machine, the only appliance I own. As the pot starts heating up, I’m annoyed to see my fingers tapping nervously on the counter. Anxiety I haven’t felt since my father discovered I’d signed up for AFROTC without his permission is fighting its way to the foreground. I push it back and still my hands.
The pot has just finished filling up when Holt walks into the room. It’s a large room, which feels even larger due to the limited amount of furniture I have, but with Holt here, it feels more intimate, closed-in. I follow his eyes as he takes in the space, seeing what he sees. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows leading to a balcony that overlooks Clear Lake. An open concept living area that includes a kitchen, kitchen island with one stool, and a family room with one oversized, overstuffed chair complete with matching ottoman. A large TV is mounted on the wall, wires hanging down to the floor where my cable box rests. I guess I can’t count the TV tray that serves as my side table as an actual piece of furniture, can I? And of course, more lists taped on walls.
Holt’s eyes come back to me and then to the door on the other side of the room. He’d taken off his boots at the door. They’d been dropped there, but lined up against the wall, out of the way. The sight of those well-worn cowboy boots sitting just so on the tile floor does something to me.
“You want coffee?”
Eyes as dark as my precious Kona beans find mine again, one brow quirked up. For a minute I think they soften, but he blinks and the expression is gone.
