Page 138

I grabbed a pillow and shoved it over my face. Maybe suffocation was the answer. Not permanent suffocation, obviously. Just enough to knock some sense into myself.

"Damon?"

I pulled the pillow off my face. And immediately wished I'd left it there. Because standing at the foot of my bed was Mikayla Parsons.

Barefoot.

Fresh-faced.

Wearing nothing but a white V-neck T-shirt that barely reached the tops of her thighs.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I'd seen that woman in designer gowns that probably cost more than most folks mortgage payments. I'd seen her in tailored business suits that had me questioning everything I'd ever thought about corporate America. And I'd seen her in jeans that hugged every delicious curve like they'd been custom-made just for her. As a country boy, I had a particular weakness for denim stretched over a heart-shaped backside. And hers? Hell, that was my own personal brand of catnip.

But this?

This might've been my favorite.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her cheeks were pink from washing her face, and her skin was completely bare of makeup.

I'd always thought she was beautiful.

But this version of her?

The one who didn't have a boardroom to conquer or a billion-dollar company to run?

The one who looked soft and sleepy and a little uncertain?

This was the woman I wanted to wake up next to every morning. Which was an extremely inconvenient realization to have while wearing gray sweatpants.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I nodded.

She tilted her head. "Then why did you have a pillow over your face?"

"Medical reasons."

Her mouth quirked. "Medical reasons?"

"Yep."

"What medical reasons?"

"Self-preservation."

She stared at me. I stared back, my eyes drifting down her long, toned legs. Then I forced my gaze back to her face.

When our eyes met, she crossed her arms, which caused the hem of her shirt to ride up an inch or two. My entire body took notice. "You're going to have to be more specific," she said.

I gestured in her direction, my hand waving up and down. "You."

"Me?" Her hand touched her chest.

"You're a health hazard."

Her lips twitched. Progress. "I wasn't aware I posed a medical threat."