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“You don’t have to thank me. Do you want to talk about it?” I hope he does. I want to know what he dreams about.
“No,” he states plainly, and I nod. I want to push it further, but I know what will happen if I do.
“I will talk about how incredibly sexy you look wearing my shirt, though,” he coos in my ear. He nudges my head with his and brings his lips to my skin. My eyes close in response to his plump lips wrapping around my earlobe, gently tugging. I can feel him hardening against me, making me feel drowsy in an incredible way. This type of mood swing is one that I can enjoy.
“Hardin,” I chirp and he chuckles against my neck. His hands travel down my body; he brings his thumb along the waistband of the oversize plaid pajamas. My pulse begins to quicken and I gasp as his hand slides down the front of the pants. He always has the same effect on me; within seconds I feel myself pooling in my panties. His other hand cups my breast and he hisses as he flicks his thumb over my sensitive nipple, making me glad I decided not to sleep in my bra.
“I can’t get enough of you, Tess.” His raspy voice is even deeper, filled with lust. His hand cups me over my panties and he pulls me as close to him as possible. His erection presses against me. I reach down and take his hand, removing it from my pants. When I turn to face him, a frown covers his face.
“I . . . I want to do something for you,” I whisper slowly, embarrassed.
A smile overtakes the frown and he takes my chin in between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.
“What do you want to do?” he asks. I don’t know, exactly; I just know I want to make him feel as good as he does me. I want to see him lose control like I did in this same room.
“I don’t know . . . what do you want me to do?” My lack of experience is evident in my tone.
Hardin puts my hands in his and slides them down to the bulge in his pants. “I really want those plump lips wrapped around me.”
I gasp at his words, and feel the pressure in between my thighs.
“Is that something you want?” he asks, his hands moving circles over his crotch. His dark eyes regard me, gauging my reaction.
I nod and gulp, earning a smile from him. He sits up and pulls me to join him. Nervousness and want both flood my body. The loud jingle of his ringtone echoes through the room and he groans before snatching his phone off the table. His eyes meet the screen and he sighs.
“I’ll be right back,” he informs me and disappears out of the room. He returns a few minutes later and his mood has changed once more.
“Karen is making breakfast. It’s almost finished.” He pulls open the dresser and grabs a T-shirt, tossing it over his head without looking in my direction.
“Okay.” I stand up and go to the door, needing to put a bra on before I go see his family.
“See you downstairs.” His tone is emotionless.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. Guarded Hardin is my least favorite Hardin, even less liked than angry Hardin. Who called him, and why did it make him so distant? Why can’t he just stay in a good mood?
I nod and walk across the hall, smelling bacon that causes my stomach to grumble.
I put my bra on, and pull the drawstring on the plaid pants as tight as it will go. I contemplate putting my dress back on, but I really don’t want to be uncomfortable this early in the morning. Checking the large mirror on the wall, I run my fingers through my unruly hair and wipe the sleep from my eyes.
As I close the bedroom door, Hardin opens his. Instead of looking at him, I focus on the wallpaper and walk forward down the hall. I can hear his steps behind me, and when I reach the staircase his hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me gently.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, worry clouding his features.
“Nothing, Hardin,” I snap. I am overly emotional and I haven’t even had breakfast yet.
“Tell me,” he demands, dipping his head so that his face is in full view.
I give in. “Who called you?”
“No one.”
He lies. “Was it Molly?” I don’t want to know the answer.
He doesn’t say anything, but his expression gives away that I’m right. He left the room as I was about to . . . do that to him . . . to answer a phone call from Molly? I should be more surprised than I am.
“Tessa, it’s not . . .” he begins. I pull my arm from his grip and he clenches his jaw.
“Hey, guys.” Landon appears in the hall, and I smile. His hair is sticking up slightly and he wears plaid pants similar to mine. He looks adorable and sleepy. I pass Hardin and move toward Landon. I refuse to let Hardin know how embarrassed and hurt I am by him answering Molly’s call while we were together like that.
“How did you sleep last night?” Landon asks and I follow him down the stairs, leaving a frustrated Hardin to himself.
Karen has gone all out on breakfast, like I could have predicted she would. Hardin joins us at the table a few minutes later, but I’ve already piled eggs, bacon, toast, a waffle, and a few grapes on my plate.
“Thank you so much for making this breakfast for us,” I tell Karen on mine and Hardin’s behalf; I know he won’t be bothered with thanking her.
“It’s my pleasure, dear—how did you sleep? I hope the storm didn’t keep you awake.” She smiles.
Hardin tenses beside me, probably worried I will mention his nightmare. He should know by now I would never do that, so his lack of trust only bothers me more.
“I slept great, actually. I sure didn’t miss my bed in my dorm!” I laugh and everyone joins me, everyone except Hardin, of course. He takes a drink of his orange juice and keeps his eyes focused on the wall. Mindless breakfast chatter fills the dining room as Ken and Landon banter about some football game.