Page 49 of Crossing the Line
He nodded and watched her fuss over the bedding.
“Is there anything else—”
“Go to bed, Waverly.”
Even with the couch between them, the tension was palpable. He’d ditched his jacket earlier in the evening and rolled up his sleeves. With the holster and gun and the ready-for-action look in those whiskey eyes, Xavier looked dangerous and made her feel safe.
She looked her fill for a moment, taking in the pure perfection of his face, the graceful strength of his body. Her guardian. He’d keep her safe.But who would protect her heart from him, she worried.
With a palpable sense of reluctance, Waverly drifted toward her bedroom. She glanced over her shoulder. One last look. “Good night, X.”
“Good night, Angel,” his voice was a rasp of warring want and restraint.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She woke the next morning groggy and disoriented. Just the thought of Xavier sprawled shirtless on her couch—which she knew he was because she’d peeked in the middle of the night—had kept her up most of the night.
Renaissance masters would have spent lifetimes trying to capture his perfection in marble. He slept with one arm behind his head, the other splayed across his muscled stomach, his fingertips tucked just beneath the untied waistband of his cotton pants. He was hard in his sleep—the rigid length of him visible through fabric had her breath catching in her throat. The moonlight played over his broad chest, the subtle hollows of his cheeks. A day’s worth of stubble made him look more bad boy than Boy Scout.
Waverly felt her body react with a hot fist of lust. He was so close, so touchable.What would he do if she traced her fingers over those planes and valleys, lower and lower…
She’d gone back to bed, tossing and turning, thoughts and fantasies swirling in her head. Frustrated and exhausted, she’d finally fallen asleep and dreamed of her guardian ranging himself over her, taking what he wanted.
He’d made coffee. The scent of it dragged her out of bed and into the kitchen before seven. And, because she blamed him for her restless night, she glared at him when she accepted the mug he held up for her.
He hadn’t even bothered to put on a t-shirt yet, and his spectacular form was on display. She hated him, just a little bit, for being so beautiful. He was staring at her, no,glaringat her.
“Don’t piss me off already, Saint,” she said, sighing into the coffee.
“Then put some fucking clothes on,” he snapped.
She looked down. Her nipples were trying to fight their way out of the white cami she’d slept in. In her exhausted funk, she hadn’t bothered to pull on shorts over her pineapple print underwear that cut high on the thigh and butt.Oops.
Judging by the morning wood that was straining against his pajama pants, Xavier Junior liked what he saw.
“What about you, Mr. Coffeemaking Adonis. Put a damn shirt on before Kate wakes up and I have to pry her off of you with a crowbar.”
“I don’t have time for games, Waverly. You’re not getting laid, so get your ass in there and put on something that holds those things in,” he waved a hand at her chest.
“Excuse me? You think I’m trying to get laid because I walked into my own fucking kitchen for a God damn cup of coffee?”
“You do not wander around here dressed like that,” he argued.
“This is what I slept in!”
“Well, you’re not asleep now so cover the fuck up!” He stepped in on her, looking good and pissed. She held her ground with a stubborn jut of her chin, and they glared at each other for several tense seconds.
Waverly wilted first. Exhausted and angry, she sprawled over the countertop of the island and put her forehead on the cool granite.
“Why are we fighting?” she groaned.
“Jesus, don’t they make underwear with more material?”
“Oh my God, stop looking if it bothers you.”
“Angel, my team is going to be in and out of here constantly. You can’t prance around in shit like that or I’m going to have to fire every single one of them.”
“Ugh. Fine. But at least get that thing under control,” she said, pointing at his throbbing cock. “And put on a damn shirt.”
