Hitchhiker (7 page)

I heard a low whistle next to me. “Kind of big for one person, don’t you think?”

I stared straight ahead. “Mmmhmm, something like that.”

“Want me to get the bags?”

This time I did look at him. His face was relaxed and unaffected by his surroundings. I nodded. “Yes, please.”

He turned to walk out, and I took the opportunity to step further inside and take in everything. The living room was open. Two dark brown leather couches faced one another, and there was a cushioned ottoman in the middle. These sat in front of a sprawling fireplace that had a rustic looking mantle, holding very few decorations. In the front window was a two-person table and a chess board, set up and waiting for someone to sit and play. To the right of the living room was an island and gourmet kitchen. Barstools lined the counter on one side and high-end appliances on the other. Even I wanted to say ‘wow.’ Through the slats of the shades, I could see a wraparound deck that faced the backyard and woods. I’d definitely be spending some time out there, I noted. To my right was a hallway that had one full bath with natural stonework lining the shower walls and travertine floor. The next room was the first of the five bedrooms. It held a full-size bed and cute décor reminiscent of a ski lodge and outdoors. In fact, most of what I’d seen so far was. Past that room was another, which I could only assume was the master suite. A king-size bed with a beautiful green duvet dominated the space. A large antique trunk sat at the foot of the bed, and two nightstands on either side made the room feel cozy yet big. A bathroom that belonged in the pages of a luxury magazine was just off the master, along with a walk-in closet. Between the deep tub and separate shower, I was ready to strip down and take a much-needed relaxing bubble bath. It’d been weeks since I’d had one, and just thinking about it caused my muscles to ache.

“This your room?” I heard Dawson’s deep rumble behind me.

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Yeah, I think so. Feel free to take any of the other rooms.”

“Don’t suppose I could talk you out of this one? That bed looks good enough to strip down and roll around in.”

All thoughts of the house flew right out the window. I twisted my head away from him to hide the blush that I felt creeping up my cheeks. Did he realize what he was even saying? A vision of Dawson sans clothes laying down and me getting the opportunity to do whatever I wanted to him danced in my head. Goosebumps broke out over my skin and I shivered.

“You okay?” He sounded as though he were smiling. And, my God, did he step closer to me? I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. His scent washed over me, and I clenched my fists together.

“Mmmhmm,” was all I was capable of mustering.

I didn’t know how long I stood there, but when I got the courage to turn around, I realized I was alone. Exhaling, my shoulders slumped and I released my nails from my palms. Seriously, Chandler, you needed to settle down or take care of business. My backpack was sitting on the end of the bed. That was sweet. I didn’t technically have anything to unpack, but I went over, unzipped it, pulled out my make-up kit, and put it on the bathroom counter. I grabbed the dirty clothes stuffed inside and went in search of a washing machine.

I passed the other bedroom that was on this floor and saw Dawson unpacking his bag. I slowed. This was going to be interesting having him only a few feet away every night. Shaking my head, I picked up my pace and kept walking. Right next to the front door was a set of stairs that led downstairs to the basement. It was much like the upstairs—a living room, three more bedrooms, two full baths, and a mudroom with a washer and dryer. Throwing my clothes inside, I opened the cap on the soap and smelled it. I didn’t know if laundry soap ever went bad, but I didn’t suppose it would very quickly. My parents had come here last summer, so I assumed that was how old it was.

“Mind if I throw my clothes in, too?”

I squeaked and gripped my chest, spinning around and almost twisting my ankle in the process. “God, would you stop creeping up on me?”

“I’m not creeping; you just don’t pay attention,” he argued.

I glared at him. “I pay attention.”

“Really?” He crossed his arms, causing his chest to expand and his biceps to bulge.

“Yes, really.”

“Tell me, what color was the bedding in your room?” he tested.

I had to make a genuine concerted effort not to stare at how good he looked right now. And besides, I had him on this one. “It was green,” I answered confidently.

Half of his mouth tipped up. “Hmmm, looks like you do pay attention.”

How childish of me would it have been to stick my tongue out? God, I wanted to. “Paying attention or not, green is my favorite color, and I just so happened to have made a mental note of how pretty I thought it was when I walked in the room.” I grinned facetiously.

I faltered though when his hands went to the hem of his sweatshirt he’d been wearing for the past two days and raised it over his head. I didn’t need a mirror to see that my eyes were huge and I was staring. Soft golden skin expanded across Dawson’s well-sculpted chest as he breathed in and out. The tattoo I’d seen earlier was just the start of a full sleeve that went to the top of his left shoulder. The designs and patterns were more than I could stop and look at. My eyes were soaking in as much of him as I could. He had abs that traveled down to a defined V. It was like the kind you saw on a photoshopped magazine cover, but you didn’t actually know anybody who had them in real life. My God, he was even more stunning than I expected him to be. My fingertips were itching to reach out and touch his smooth skin just so I could see if it felt like I imagined it did. Clamping my mouth shut, I gritted my teeth and held my breath. Leaning forward, Dawson tossed his sweatshirt into the washing machine and his arm brushed across my stomach in the process. I gasped, and he looked over his shoulder at me.

“What color were your covers?” he asked again.

My mind was reeling and I felt like I’d been struck stupid. “What?”

My eyes had moved from his body, and I was now intently staring into his gorgeous brown irises. His warm breath brushed across my overheated cheeks as he said, “You’re going to be trouble, miss.”

Dawson took a step back, and then another. Without uttering a word, he turned and went back upstairs. I sagged against the washing machine. Warning bells were ringing in my head—Stranger Danger. Except I’d invited the stranger into my home and said he could sleep under the same roof as me. Running my fingers through my tangled brown hair, I let my head fall forward. Jesus, I was tired.

I was certain of two things. First, I think I was crazier now than the day I left Maine. And second, I wanted that man, and that scared the shit out of me.

How long did he plan to stay again?

THAT NEXT MORNING
, I stood by the coffee pot, glaring at the stupid thing. My parents spared no expense with every nook and cranny of this house, but yet they couldn’t get a coffee maker that brewed in under a minute? I growled. Tapping my foot, I yawned and covered my mouth. I’d barely slept last night and I clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed. When I’d finally managed to stand on two feet, I had shuffled into the bathroom and looked at my groggy self in the mirror. I was a mess. My brunette hair looked like a nest that a little bird would love, and my bangs stuck out every which way. I did my best to tame it with a comb and ponytail, but some things couldn’t be helped. Especially the bags under my blue eyes. Still frowning at the coffee pot, I sighed and sat on one of the stools by the island.

I’d tossed and turned last night, kicking the covers off my overheated body, and then pulling them back up when my feet got too cold. Between that and my overactive imagination, I’d slept for maybe a total of three hours. I knew exactly why I was so restless. Dawson slept a whole thirty feet from me, and I couldn’t relax long enough not to care. He was pulling some weird, crazy desire from me that made me want to go crawl into his bed and be with him.

Unacceptable, Chandler.

The coffee pot finally beeped letting me know the coffee was ready. Getting up from the stool, I went over and poured myself a cup in the largest mug I could find and took my first sip. Exhaling, I closed my eyes.

Giggling, I was pushed into the bedroom by a very playful Dawson.

“God, why did I drink so much?” I wobbled my way to my dresser and haphazardly tried to find some pajamas.

“Because you’re stupid and can’t handle your alcohol,” Dawson said, chuckling at me.

I turned and faced him, my mouth gaping open. “Excuse me? You’re one to talk. You drink like a fish.”

“A fish that can handle his liquor.”

Slipping off my sandal, I picked it up and threw it at him. It pegged him in the leg, which made me laugh because at least he appeared to be somewhat drunk, too. His reaction time was slow.

“Clearly, you handle it well,” I pointed out, covering my mouth and trying not to let another smile creep out.

Bending over, he picked up the shoe and started walking in my direction. My eyes grew wide.

“Hmmm? I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Uhhhh . . . you are good with your alcohol, a champ. Could probably drink another bottle and I’d never be able to tell.” I took a couple of steps back.

He smirked. “Why do I feel like you’re lying, Chandler?”

I rounded the bed and put my hands up. My buzz was in full force. “I’m not. I swear I’m not. You’re totally sober, I can tell.”

The shoe he had been holding launched out of his hand and headed in my direction. I twisted my body, and it hit me square on the butt. “Ouch!” I was cracking up and rubbing my cheek. “That hurt, you asshole.”

I didn’t even get a chance to say anything else. “Shut up,” he growled in my ear.

Dawson had come up behind me, grabbing my arm and shifting me around to face him. His hand slid underneath my hair and behind my neck, holding me in place. Warm and surprisingly soft lips crushed down on mine. I had no time to do anything but let him do what he wanted. In fact, no way was I stopping this. I fell on him, letting him hold up the weight of my body. Pulling back, I parted my lips and smiled. He covered the short distance; drawing in my lower lip with tantalizing suction, he gently tugged. Heat seeped through me, and a fired ignited in my veins. As his teeth scraped across my sensitive skin, I pressed my tongue forward. The moment it touched his, he released my lip and surged forward with his own tongue. My arms came up and one wound around his back while my other hand grasped a handful of his hair, trying to pull him in closer to me. I felt desperate. Wetness was seeping through my panties, and I would have given anything at that moment for him to strip me down and for me to feel him moving inside me.

I couldn’t contain the moan that escaped from my throat. As soon as he heard it, he dropped his own limbs and took a step back from me. I stumbled slightly, more drunk from his kiss than the alcohol.

“Have a good night, Chandler.” He grinned devilishly.

I blinked rapidly. “What? You’re just going to leave? After . . . THAT?”

He turned and walked to the door. “Mmmhmm. You need to know who holds the power. Me.”

“Okay, now you really are an asshole,” I pouted, completely and utterly disgruntled.

He stood at the open doorway, unable to remove his eyes from me. Oh, he thought he held the power? We’d see about that. I was not the kind of girl who did things like this, but I felt like I was about to crawl out of my skin if he didn’t come back over here and touch me. Attempting to lure him back him, I turned away from him and faced the bed. Grasping the hem of my shirt, I lifted it up over my head and tossed it on the floor. I had no idea what kind of show I was giving him, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be enough. Oh well, my drunken state wasn’t going to allow me to stop what I was starting.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him taking out his phone and lifting it up to snap a picture of me. I smiled, as if almost posing for him, letting my head fall back and my long hair cascade downward. I heard the sound of the camera go off.

“Got it,” he said.

I put my arms up to cover my bra-clad chest. “Did you really just take a picture?”

“Of course, I did.”

“Come back in here.”

“No. I’m going back to my room. Goodnight, Chandler.”

Why was he torturing me? I knew he wasn’t going to come back unless I took everything off. But I couldn’t do that. My shyness would overtake me, and I’d stop before I’d even start.

“Goodnight,” I grumbled back to him.

And with that he shut the door.

The tip of my tongue was hurting, and I realized I’d burned it being off in la la land remembering one of my many dreams from last night.

“Ouch! Dammit,” I hissed, covering my mouth.

Dawson came walking into the kitchen with his messy brown hair and sleepy eyes, shirtless with black lounge pants that hung low on his hips. So help me God if he rounded the counter and he was barefoot, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to contain myself. A good-looking man without shoes and socks got me every time for whatever reason. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and wish him away just so I could get some peace for my very busy mind, but that simply wasn’t happening. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Oh no, I was staring as he came into the kitchen and stopped right in front of me.