Page 29

Willow

T ap. Tap. Tap.

I groan and snuggle into the warmth of the bed beneath me. My sheets smell like Rocket. Somewhere in my fogged brain, I both recognize his scent and realize it’s because his cologne rubbed off on me when we kissed last night.

I’m definitely not complaining about that.

Just as I doze back off, it happens again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Persistent. Soft but determined.

“Poppy ...” I whisper, all but begging for a few more minutes of sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then I hear it. A giggle that’s high-pitched and amused.

My brain struggles to wake, but thoughts start to connect, one after another. They start to make sense.

The bed is warm beneath me. Really warm.Toowarm.

Wait. It’s not the bed. It’ s the couch.

Rocket’s couch.

And there’s a heartbeat under my cheek.

My eyes blink open, and I come face to face with a black T-shirt and the faint scent of cedar and citrus and sin.

Sin?

I lift my head. Oh. Oh . Oooh!

I’m not just curled up on the couch. I’m curled upon Rocket.

Like, on top of him.

Like, my entire body is sprawled across his chest like he’s a mattress made of rock star.

I’m definitely awake now. Like blood-pumping, body-heating, every-nerve-ending aware type of awake. It’s not just the feel of him beneath me, but it’s the tensing of his hand on my lower back pulling me into him when I go to move and his slight groan of protest.

I blink away the sunlight and startle when I see a pair of very curious green eyes about a foot from me. Poppy stands at the side of us, head tilted and if her expression is any indication, absolutely delighted.

“Oh shit,” I whisper.

And then I move. Fast. Perhaps too fast because when I bolt upright, I forget about the concept of gravity and the coordination needed to dismount properly. My hand flies out to brace myself, only to landdirectlyon Rocket’s crotch.

Specifically ... on the morning part of it. The very erect, very hard morning part of it.

I freeze. In his sleepy state, he grunts and adjusts his hips to grind his erection into my hand.

With a noncommittal sound, I launch myself off him like I’ve touched an open flame.

Of course, that causes me to narrowly miss a giggling Poppy and end up colliding full-force with the coffee table.

My shin slams into its edge, which causes me to hop on one foot and then fall in glorious fashion to the floor with a thump—ass up, face flat on the ground.

Before I can even hope to salvage any of my dignity, I feel Rocket’s hands on my hips from behind and hear Poppy giggling so hard she snorts.

But even through the pain in my shin and my dignity in shambles, my body immediately heats as the feel of his thighs against my ass and his hands helping to move me to a seated position.

“Good morning.” He chuckles a sleep-drugged rumble when our eyes meet for the first time. Jesus . The sight of him and that low, even voice of his that scrapes over my skin does things to my insides. “You all right?”

But I don’t respond—can’t—because his hand is sliding up my pant leg to check my shin.

“Willow?” he asks, causing me to look up from where I’m focused on his hand running over my skin and meet his eyes. Every neuron I have short-circuits, becauseGod help me, all I can think about is last night.

The way he kissed me—slow and sinful and devastating.

The way he held my hand to his chest and whispered,“Just this.” The way that when the kissing ended, we just sat where we were with my head on his shoulder and talked about trivial things because it felt like neither of us wanted to leave the moment.

There was no rush to an end game—just time and well-focused attention that surprised me.

And right now, kneeling there between my knees, his palm brushing over my leg in that careful way that’s anything but careful—he’s giving me the exact same look he gave me last night.

Like he remembers.

Like he feels it too.

“Sorry. I’m fine. I’m good. I just went to get up and ...” And I all but wrapped my hand around your cock.

Kill me now. Please. Because by the way he glances lazily down toward his lap, he knows exactly where my thoughts are. “Didn’t think it would scare you that much.”

“It’s not it . I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” My cheeks heat. I try not tolookat the very obvious issue below his sweatpants. Thankfully, the one shielded from Poppy, who’s standing there with her hands over her mouth stifling her giggles.

“It’s okay if you are,” he says, that sheepish, sleep-drugged smile tilting up one corner of his mouth.

The bastard’sglowing. Disheveled hair. Creased shirt. That scruff that’s begging for my fingers to run over it. He looks like a man who could wreck you and then cook you breakfast.

And apparently, make you fall asleep on his chest like some idiot who forgot she hasboundaries.

I press a hand to my face. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. You’re”—I wave my hand in his direction as my cheeks burn even brighter—“clearly more than fine. I can’t believe I fell asleep here. There. On you.”

Rocket flashes a grin. “Can’t blame you. I’m pretty comfortable.”

Poppy giggles again and breaks the trance he has over me.

And then the guilt hits. Here I am thinking of Rocket and his dick and my hormones and neglecting the reason I’m here in the first place.

“Poppy,” I say as she giggles again and points at Rocket’s hair and how it’s standing all over the place.

She points to “rock” and then says “ et ,” before laughing. The kind of belly giggle that you can’t help but smile at.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says and then messes his hair up further. Poppy erupts in another fit. “You try sleeping with a human blanket on your chest.” He glances at me and winks. “Not that I’m complaining one damn bit.”

Oh God. I bury my face in my hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Nope. I’m enjoying this too much.”

“What about it exactly are you enjoying?” I ask as I pull Poppy into my lap out of reflex for a good morning hug.

She hugs me back and then bends over to look at my shin, giving me a clear line of sight to Rocket and his half-cocked grin.

“Seeing you a little mussed up. The hair is down. I now know you’re a good snuggler on top of being a great kisser.

Guess there’s something to be said for that anticipation, huh? ”

“Rocket. You can’t say that. Poppy can—”

“Hear me. I know. What’s the big deal? We both like you. Why hide it?”

I stare at him and his casualness, my jaw lax and mind stuttering over how easy this seems for him.

What happened to the emotionally constipated man from a month ago?

And then something happens before I can respond to him. He stands abruptly and reaches for Poppy’s hand. There are no words, no coaxing, no anything.

She takes it.

Just like that. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No wide-eyed uncertainty. Her small fingers wrap around his pointer finger.

“You hungry?” Rocket asks her. Her eyes grow wide, and she giggles before looking back at me to make sure it’s okay she goes with him.

I nod and then freeze in place, shin still smarting but heart swelling.

Because this? This is the first time he’s taken to her all on his own. To say it wrecks me is an understatement. To say it’s everything is an even bigger one .

I stay where I am and watch the two of them.

He’s barefoot, shirt wrinkled, and hair’s a mess. She’s wild curls, pink frills, and a wide grin. Poppy is still giggling as she twirls under their joined hands like it’s a game only she understands.

And then Rocket looks down at her with a soft, crooked smile.

His guard is down. His walls aregone. And I let myself stare. Let myself take it in. Because I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

He glances back at me.

“I don’t mind you looking,” he says, voice amused. “I don’t mind you touching, either.”

I choke on air and start coughing.

He winks. “Just next time, maybe give a guy some warning so I can ensure I’m at tip-top form.”

My face mightneverrecover from this shade of red.

He makes a show of lifting Poppy up onto the counter before looking my way and saying a little quieter and a bit more seriously, “I like you, Willow Adams.”

I blink, and my breath burns in my chest as I lift my eyebrows in response.

“That’s kind of a new thing for me.”

The world tilts because he’s not joking. Not deflecting. Not putting on a show. I’ve gotten to know him well enough to know that hemeans it.

He turns to Poppy. “How about pancakes, Popstar? I have no fuc—freaking clue how to make them. They’ll probably taste like crap, but we’ll try.

” He moves toward the cupboards and then turns back to look at her while I smile at the new nickname he’s given her.

“Oh, and I know I’m not supposed to cuss.

It’s a vice. I’ll work on not cussing if you work on talking to me, okay? ” He holds out a hand to shake hers.

She looks at it, then takes it and shakes it with a definitive nod.

“Okay,” he says. “Now let’s get those pancakes burning.”

He does a little dance that has her clapping her hands together, and all I can do is sit where I am and stare, reeling as I think of last night. The kiss. The way he held my hand to his chest. “Just this.”

And now this morning—with his daughter. With me.

And I know.

I’m fucked.

Well and truly, absolutely fucked.