Fearful of waking her, he scooted closer. His painfully hard cock throbbed inside his—check that, no shorts. I just slept naked beside the most beautiful girl on the planet. Happy New Year to me. His inner caveman begged to grasp her tight and bury himself inside her. But no, that would be creepy. He needed her wide awake before asking for another round. And maybe she didn’t even like morning sex. Maybe she’d want to pee first, or brush her teeth, or unsnarl her hair. Did he have a spare toothbrush? Should he make coffee? Pancakes? Eggs?
Shit and double shit—his parents expected him for New Year’s brunch. What time? He twisted to reach for his notebook. Not there, on the corner of his nightstand where he always left it. Had he dropped it somewhere? Left it at the bar? The hangover drumline kicked up the tempo as he searched his fuzzy brain.
Whose idea had it been to come back to his place? Memories dissolved and ran like watercolors, leaving a blurred puddle of sensations—breathless whispers, giddy laughter, lingering gazes, tracing the swirls and lines of her tattoos with his lips and tongue. Glorious. Heavenly. Perfect.
Totally worth losing the notebook. He turned back to Rosie’s sleepy-soft body, gingerly slid his arm around her middle, and nestled his chin into the sweet-scented crook of her neck. For the first time in as long as he remembered, he didn’t give a damn about checking his morning to-do list. Who needs daily goals and affirmations when you have a goddess snoring softly in your ear? He pressed his lips to her temple and surrendered to sleep.
****
“Ow.” Something sharp and scratchy poked the crook of Rosie’s neck. She yawned and stretched, and the pointy thing withdrew with a raspy mumble. What the…? Her eyes flew open, then squinted against the piercing sunlight. A warm hand closed on her breast.
Where am I? She sucked in a deep breath and scanned the room. The bed smelled foresty, like cedar and moss. Light streamed through a window in the slanted ceiling. Atop the old-fashioned brass bed, a blue and red quilt covered her and—she bit her lip and turned her head. Eddie.
The rotten-sock taste in her mouth and the throbbing behind her eyes left no doubt. Definitely too much booze last night. Nothing wrong with partying on New Year’s Eve, but she’d partied herself right into a sweet, shy co-worker’s bed. That’s why she seldom drank much—more than two drinks, and buh-bye inhibitions. Now what?
Shame tightened her queasy belly. Dawn, her boss at Bangers Tavern, had warned her, after their first mistletoe smooch, “Eddie’s got it bad, kiddo. Tread carefully, okay?”
“Got it bad? Is he sick?” Sure, Eddie was skinny, but with a wiry muscularity that reminded her of Michelangelo’s David, and bright chestnut eyes that held hers for long, heart-thumping moments. At work, she’d sneak glances at his shoulders and biceps and crunchy little butt as he hefted beer kegs. No taller than her, he seemed strong enough to lift a car.
“Eddie’s tender-hearted,” Dawn had told her. “I got no problem with you flirting with customers. Carpe diem, I always say. But workplace romance screws with my staff. Don’t toy with Eddie.”
But why did Dawn hang mistletoe from the bar’s ceiling if she didn’t want people to kiss? Eddie would wait until the boss was in her office, then find some excuse to linger beneath that clump of green, his eyebrows flicking up in a flirtatious question. You wanna?
Damn it, she did wanna. His crooked smile was so tempting. And his lips were so soft, his kisses so sweet—unlike the slobbery mauling she got from most guys she dated. Desire simmered under his cool surface, making her want to dive deeper.
New Year’s Eve served up the perfect excuse. When the bar staff toasted the new year, it was so easy to land in Eddie’s arms. So easy to keep dancing as their coworkers filed out, leaving them alone beneath the kitschy disco ball, its dizzy sparkle whirling them around and around.
And now he slept beside her, sunlight glinting off his wavy brown hair, glossy lashes fanned across his cheekbones, dark scruff shadowing his razor-sharp jaw. So pretty, so vulnerable, so one hundred percent wrong for her. Clean-cut guys like Eddie never stuck around with girls like her. God knows she’d bashed her head against that brick wall enough times to learn her lesson.
Breath held, she gingerly removed his hand from her breast and wriggled toward the edge of the bed. Eddie sighed and squirmed into the space she’d vacated, nuzzling her pillow. No, she corrected herself, his pillow. Gotta get out of here.
Rising on unsteady legs, she turned back for a final look. Sleep melted his solemn daytime expression into peaceful sweetness. His bare shoulders rose on a shiver. As she bent to tuck the quilt around him, her boob brushed his arm.
“Huh?” His eyes fluttered open. His brow rumpled, then smoothed as a bleary smile spread across his pillow-creased face. “Good morning,” he croaked and pushed up on his elbow. His gaze sharpened as it raked over her naked body. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.” She waved a limp hand over the bed. “Last night was, uh—really something.” She shuffled backward, stifling the impulse to cover her bits. After all, he’d seen every inch of her. He’d sampled it all, too. Twice, if she recalled correctly. The details were still kind of blurry, but she remembered lots of giggling, Eddie’s silky hair tickling her inner thighs, the slap of flesh on flesh, and a climax so powerful she nearly blacked out.
Eddie’s gaze held hers. “Last night was spectacular.” The quilt slipped down, baring his lean chest, tight little pecs dusted with chocolate brown hair, and ab muscles that bunched as he sat up.
She stepped back and bonked
