Page 33

MERIT

A noise wakes me up.

Holding my breath, I listen. But it’s hard to hear anything above the pounding of my own heart.

“Holt.” My whisper falls on deaf ears. His heavy breathing doesn’t even falter. There’s no easy way to wake him. There’s basically only two options—bloodcurdling scream or elbow drop to the ribs.

Seeing as how I’m neither a horror film actress nor a professional wrestler, I guess I’m on my own.

I squint my eyes at his alarm clock. I guess I could make the alarm go off; he’s trained his body to wake up to that obnoxious noise. But how could he not…he’s got it set to rock-concert level. It’s so loud I shit my pants every morning at the butt-crack of dawn.

Shaking my head, I decide to face this battle head-on. Sliding from the covers, I tiptoe across the bedroom, pausing every so often, trying to decipher the nighttime noises. A normal-size house has plenty of noises. The hum of electricity, the click of air conditioning, the settling of wood.

But this?

A mansion-size house has mansion-size noises. In fact, most nights, I wake up because I hear something. I usually take a bathroom break and force myself to settle and go back to sleep. But tonight is different. This noise sounded like something breaking.

Or something falling. Or something clattering across the floor.

I don’t know why I’m nervous. Holt sets the house alarm every single night. He has to. Can you imagine what would happen if a thief got ahold of his Super Bowl ring?

Or his other Super Bowl ring.

Slowly, I turn the bedroom doorknob and peek outside. There’s a lamp on the side table in the upstairs foyer casting everything in a soft glow. I sigh in relief.

Light always makes everything better.

Opening the door all the way, I step outside and take a quick survey of the hallway. All the bedrooms are dark. There’s a small nightlight glowing in the laundry room. Leaning over the balcony railing, I look down the stairs.

Satisfied a mass murderer isn’t mere feet away, I trudge back to the master bedroom. I’m about to shut the door when something catches my eye. Something lying on the floor of the kids’ bedroom, right on the other side of the threshold.

Padding across the marbled tile, I’m shocked when I find Holt’s cell phone.

What the hell?

I look behind me at the side table. The same table where he always sets his cell phone. Every single night.

How on earth did it get from there to here?

Did he drop it and not even realize it?

Did he sleepwalk and move it?

Surely, he didn’t get a phone call; I would’ve heard it.

Wouldn’t I?

Picking it up, I turn it over in my hands, checking it for damage. Everything looks intact. In fact, when I click for the home screen, our picture flashes back at me. It’s a picture that Raylee took of us. Our heads are bent together. We’re softly talking to one another, with huge smiles spread across our faces.

He had just won a football game.

Holt’s always in a great mood after winning a football game.

I’m about to type the passcode to open his phone and look at the call log when his sleepy voice catches me by surprise. “Hey. You okay?”

The fright has my heart pounding again. It feels like a mariachi band is walking around inside of my body.

He shuffles across the foyer in his green boxer briefs. His blond curls point in every direction, and his blue eyes are hooded with sleep. Just the sight of him wets my body with desire. He leans against the doorway, with furrowed brow, and nods at the phone in my hand. “What’s wrong?”

I wiggle it back and forth. “This was laying on the floor.”

He cocks his head to the side. “On the floor?”

“Yeah, right there,” I say, pointing. “Did you get a phone call or something?”

He snorts. “You think a phone call on my cell phone would wake me up?” He lifts an eyebrow, slowly enunciating every word, “Through the closed bedroom door? While I’m sleeping?” He gives me a lazy smile. “You have met me, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Hardy har.”

He holds out his hand, motioning for his phone. He clicks through the screens. “It doesn’t show any phone call.” Lifting one shoulder, he shrugs. “I must have knocked it off the table before bed and not even realized it.”

Grabbing me by the hand, he leads me back to bed, depositing his cell phone in its normal spot along the way. Pulling me against his body, his hands wrap around me, possessively holding me against him. I crane my neck. My lips graze against his jaw, and his facial scruff scratches me. “What caused you to wake up?” I ask.

“What?”

“What woke you up?”

His words choke around a yawn. “I had to take a piss. And I saw you weren’t in bed.” Leaning over me, he looks down, studying my face in the moonlight. “What about you? What woke you up?”

All of a sudden, my sleepy mind goes blank. Why did I wake up? “Oh…” I fumble through my words, “I…I heard a noise.”

“A noise?”

“Yeah.” I lovingly pat his cheek. “I looked around. It was nothing.” Sighing, I snuggle into my pillow and close my eyes. “I probably dreamed it.”