Page 57 of Saving Summer
He’d been stinking hot in Managua, but the stifling heat hadn’t thinned the layers of ice around his heart. They were too thick. Had been in place for too long. A residual effect of the shit he’d seen? The guilt he felt? The anger and hatred he harbored toward Jonas Johnson?
Whatever the cause, it didn’t matter.
Getting past his need for vengeance? Never gonna happen.
Sleep though? Sleep could happen. If he peeled himself off the chair.
One. Two. Three…and fuuuck. His knee buckled as he stood, and he had to slam his palms onto the smooth surface of his desk to keep from landing on his ass. Undeterred, or maybe inebriated enough not to care, he grabbed his cane.
Screw crashing on a tiny cot in his office. If he had to be back here, he wanted to sleep in his bed. Sure, the trip to the second floor would be a hellish undertaking, but worth it if he found a bit of comfort under the down duvet.
He limped to the door. Made it to the back stairs. Took the treads one at a time. Good leg up. Hoist the second. Good leg up and repeat until he managed to climb to the landing behind the kitchen.
A short breather to re-tuck the towel around his waist, and he was once again off to the races as he turtled himself to the next level. By the time he reached the top, his knee throbbed with each step, and he would have sucked back the last of the rum if he’d remembered to bring it.
Hobble. Hobble. Hobble. Pause outside his bedroom door to rest his leg. Deep breath. Peace. Quiet. And fucking A—success. He hadn’t woken the entire house with his Frankenstein impersonation. Good on him for avoiding a second knucklefuck to the face.
Hand on the knob, a stealthy turn, and he pushed the door open on silent hinges. A hint of something sweet-smelling embraced him as he slid through the crack and closed himself inside.
He didn’t bother with the lights. Didn’t need them. He knew his way around his room in the dark. The bed dead ahead, he shuffled across the area rug, dropped his towel along the way, and then setting his cane against the nightstand, he eased under the covers.
And fuck yeah. A memory foam mattress. A fluffy duvet. Clean sheets. Nirvana.
Head on the pillow, he pulled in another deep breath, willing his heart to slow.
God, what was that scent? Fresh. Pure. Clean. Home.
It enveloped him. Drew him in. Calmed his soul.
He turned to his side. The scent grew stronger. And following his nose, he edged over and wrapped himself around the sun. The warmth he’d been craving penetrated his skin, his tense muscles relaxing as he smoothed his fingers along soft flesh.
She sighed and nestled her ass against his dick.
He dropped his arm over the curve of her waist, and pulling her closer, he tucked her in tight, her head under his chin, his hand coming to rest against her breast. He felt their breaths sync, their chests rising and falling together as one.Warm. Alive. Real.
Real?
His shouted, “What the fuck?” broke the spell at the same time as a blood-curdling scream ripped through the air, and in an explosion of blankets, their bodies separated. A second later, he was back at the door, slapping his palm against the light switch.
Momentarily blinded by six hundred watts of LED, he blinked the winking stars from his vision, and the dangerous little pixie across the room came into sharp focus. Curly blond hair skimmed her delicate shoulders. A heart-shaped face framed sky-blue eyes. And standing tall at about five-foot-nothing in tiny sleep shorts and a body-hugging tank top, she looked ready to disembowel him with the meat hook she held clenched in her fist.
A mewling cry sounded behind her, and his gaze snapped to the bassinet she stood in front of. Drawn toward the sound, he took a few lurching steps forward. She angled her body to block his path. Their eyes met across the space between them, the warning in hers clear.
A mother bear protecting her cub, she’d do whatever she deemed necessary to protect her baby, and he didn’t doubt her brain pick piercing intentions for a second. Summer Summers, the nanny, had his attention.
His full attention as he swept his gaze from her luscious pink lips to erect nipples to tiny waist. Head to toe, he caressed her curves, his eyes feasting on every inch of exposed skin as the pint-sized vixen stood her ground.
Heat pooled low in his groin. His balls tightened. And anger flared.
Even with his bum knee, she didn’t stand a chance against his height and weight. Christ, he had at least a hundred pounds of muscle on her easy. If he wanted to take her down, he could. Why the fuck hadn’t she locked the door? Had she no common sense in her pretty head? What if he’d meant her harm. What if he’d come to hurt her or the baby? What if—
* * *
If battle-scarred warrior gods surfed,they’d look like Jamie Snow. Scruffy blond hair hanging to his shoulders. Fierce blue eyes. Muscles for days. And a cock women wrote romance novels about. Her body heating under his burning gaze, Summer jumped when the bedroom door burst open.
“Summer! Are you—” Gray stopped short when she caught sight of Jamie in all of his naked glory. “What the fuck, Doc?” The arm holding the snow globe over her head dropped to her side, her oversized T-shirt falling off her shoulder. “Why is your dick flapping in the wind?”
“Jesus Christ,” Chase said, coming in hot and displaying a very fine set of abs of his own. “Baby, I told you to wait.” Tucking his gun into the back of his jeans, he bent over to snatch a towel off the floor, tossing it at Jamie as he straightened.
