legs, over her hips and back down again, he answered, “Like there was ever any question … But maybe not quite as bad as you assumed.”
“No. Not at all.” The teasing fell away and reality settled around her. He was asking her for something serious, disguising it behind laughter and games.
“You’ve really never slept over at a woman’s place before?”
“No.”
This time it wasn’t nerves running through her but something else. Something warmer. Something she was certain was still just this side of okay in terms of the whole caring-while-keeping-it-casual deal they’d struck.
Leaning forward, so this time she was the one whispering in his ear, she said, “Don’t worry. Since this is your first time I promise to be gentle.”
GARRETT LEANED BACK against Nichole’s kitchen counter, the sound and smell of brewing coffee filling the air around him. He’d woken at five, like he normally did, only to discover there was nothing normal about this morning.
He wasn’t in his apartment. And not crashed out on one of his sisters’ couches or spare beds either. But still in the delectable Nichole’s bed and completely wrapped around her.
And, damn, if that hadn’t felt good.
A little too good, based on the way he’d been pressed hard against her back.
He’d entertained a handful of fun-and-games kind of wake-up scenarios, most of which involved getting his tongue all over her before she quite knew what was doing. But they’d only actually gone to sleep about three hours before. And, while his internal alarm wouldn’t cut him any slack, if Nichole could catch the extra Zs she should.
He didn’t want her nodding off at the wheel or letting her body wear down.
Figuring he’d pass on worrying about all the what-ifs of Nichole not getting enough rest, he’d climbed out of bed—mindful of the woman still sleeping there.
Now he was milling around her kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew … making a mental list of repairs the place needed. The hinge on the cabinet door. The track on the silverware drawer.
He’d be willing to bet she’d like a new counter. One of those granite slabs to replace the tile she had.
And then there was the fact that he didn’t need to be taking over the maintenance of Nichole’s place. What was he doing?
She didn’t need this from him. And he didn’t need—
“Hey.”
Garrett turned around and all thoughts about replacing a segment of the baseboard or not were temporarily shelved as he looked to where Nichole stood on the threshold of the kitchen, wrapped up in one of those stretchy thin robes that didn’t actually look all that warm … and, so far as he could tell, nothing else.
“Hey, yourself. Hope you don’t mind I started a pot?”
Her mouth pulled to one side as she finger-combed a few wild curls from her face. “You’re asking me if I mind that you made coffee, but not that you’ve pried up a piece of my floor?”
He looked down at where his Swiss Army knife was wedged between the wall and—and hell. Looking back at Nichole, he offered the only defense he had. “I’m good at fixing things. And it’s just the baseboard. The floor beneath looks fine.”
Shuffling into the kitchen, Nichole just nodded at him, looking adorably exhausted as she folded herself into a kitchen chair and then tried to cover an enormous yawn with her small hand.
“Okay, but your kind is notorious for taking things apart and leaving them that way. Indefinitely. Anything you touch in this place gets put back to rights within the week.” She slanted a look at him. “Regardless of whether this thing with us has run its course.”
Giving them less than a week to run their course? Grumpy, grumpy. She didn’t need to worry about his taking her place apart piece by piece. It was a habit, but one he intended to kick. With Nichole, he didn’t want to be the guy who had to fix everything.
Okay, he’d fix the baseboard … because now that he’d seen it, the damn thing would nag at the back of his mind until he knew it was taken care of. But that was it.
Garrett looked between Nichole and the coffee. After the baseboard, the only thing he’d fix for Nichole was a hot cup of joe. Grabbing a mug from the tree beside the pot, he poured her a cup. “Cream? Sugar?”
A smile flickered at the corner of her mouth as she looked him up and down. “Whipped cream.”
With a shrug, he turned for the fridge, but Nichole was already up and walking over. “Thank you, Garrett, but I’ll get it dressed up. I’m kind of particular.”
“Sure.” Even better.
He watched her navigating her space, seeing a routine he never would have thought to imagine, liking the look of her in the morning in this environment that so few would have the opportunity to experience.
Possessive satisfaction swelled within him at the thought, urging him into closer contact. His fingers played through her hair as she topped off her coffee with skim milk, swirled a spoon through the pale brew and then clinked it at the side of the mug twice.
Another sideways glance and she was looking very amused. “So, was it … good for you?”
The overnight.
Giving in to the laugh Nichole always seemed to pull from him, he nodded. “Very.”
“Seriously, how is it you’ve never spent the night with a woman before?”
Garrett took her hand and led her over to the breakfast nook by the bay window and, setting down his own coffee rather than giving up the loose hold he had on her fingers, pulled out her chair. “It just always seemed more of a complication than it would be worth.”
But then, he hadn’t exactly known what he was missing.
Parking it across the table, he threw back half his own mug—more about the infusion of caffeine than the lingering warmth he’d take his time over on the next cup.
“Really?” she asked, pulling her feet up beneath her as she settled in. “I guess I would have thought in some ways making a getaway would be more complicated.”
Nichole brought the mug to her lips and took a long swallow, her satisfaction all too distracting. But she’d asked a question. And, though the answer wasn’t exactly simple, he trusted her with it.
“Not really. I mean, at first it just wasn’t an option. I didn’t go off to college at eighteen like most of the other guys did, so it wasn’t like I could just sneak some co-ed into my dorm. I was living at home with my four sisters. Basically raising them.”
“Wait—Bethany’s a year older than you,
