Stay with Me

Wyatt. Pretty sure it’s Wyatt. Which is sexy all by itself. But then when you add in the muscles he was sporting when he helped with my boxes, and the freaking sleeve tattoo to go with them, well . . . I might have salivated.

I park and climb out of the car and offer Wyatt a wave before I walk inside to crash. It’s been a long day. Natalie came over to take photos for my social media this week, and while it was super fun, changing clothes every twenty minutes, tweaking my makeup, choosing new accessories for each shot, was freaking exhausting.

And then Will made me laugh for two hours, and my stomach got a killer workout.

My family is funny. They’re also wonderful, and I’ve missed them more than I realized.

I have makeup brushes to clean and put away before bed. I always clean my brushes after every use. Getting an infection from bacteria is my worst nightmare.

Speaking of nightmares, I sigh when I take in the sight of the staging bathroom with makeup and brushes strewn over the entire countertop.

“What a mess.” I sigh and begin to organize. My mind empties, and before long, the mess is cleaned up. I wash my face, then change into a tank top and clean panties, and rather than watch TV or other beauty vloggers’ videos, I simply climb into bed and let my body fall into an exhausted sleep.

The beeping won’t stop. Actually, beeping isn’t a good word.

Chirping. That’s a good word.

I’ve stomped all over this godforsaken house, trying to track down the source of the noise, but it’s not here.

Yet, it is here.

And that doesn’t make any sense at all.

I prop my hands on my hips and tilt my head, listening.

Chirp. Five seconds go by. Chirp.

What the hell?

I can’t sleep like this. I pace around the kitchen and then march to the front door, throwing it open and listening.

The chirping is louder.

It’s coming from Wyatt’s house, and it needs to stop, now.

So I take off, no shoes, no clothes, marching to his front door on a damn mission. It’s a warm summer night, with a light breeze that actually feels great on my warm skin.

I bang on his door and look around. No lights on in the houses on the street. His car is in the driveway, so I know he’s home. I mean, it’s the middle of the night, so where else would he be?

I bang again. If he’s sleeping, which I can’t imagine how he could through that noise, he can just wake up and deal with me. I may sound irrational right now, but damn it, a girl needs to sleep.

Finally, he yanks the door open and glares at me with shining hazel eyes.

“What is that noise?” I demand.

“You. You are the noise.” His chest is heaving. His naked, slightly hairy, very sexy chest. Not to mention, his light brown hair is a mess, and his chin is stubbled, and his tattoos are just . . . yum.

“There’s a chirping,” I insist, trying to ignore the fact that he’s only wearing short boxer briefs. The kind that clings to a man’s ass and shows off his thighs.

And, you know, other things. Like the generously sized dick outlined in the cotton.

Holy hell.

“I don’t hear anything.”

I scowl and pause, listening. Sure enough, it’s gone.

“Come on.” I grab his hand and pull him behind me. I can hear the door shut. “You have to hear this.”

“It’s two in the fucking morning,” he says but doesn’t pull away from the grip I have on his wrist. “Can’t this wait?”

“No, because I can’t sleep.” I pull him into my house and shut the door, then hold my hand up. “Stop. Listen.”

Chirp.

“See!” I push my finger into his firm chest, and then back up a step so I’m not standing so close to his sexiness. Because I seriously want to attack him.

“So change the battery in the smoke detector.” He shrugs and turns to leave, but I run in front of him and block the door.

“I’ve looked for it everywhere, Wyatt. It’s not in this house.”

He frowns. “Well, it’s not at my house.”

“Please, help me.” I bite my lower lip and watch as he pushes his hand through his already messy hair and feel my nether regions immediately sit up and take notice.

“Can you put clothes on?”

“I’m wearing clothes.” I roll my eyes and lead him through the living area, the kitchen, and out to the backyard. “Where is the chirping coming from?”

“You don’t have a robe you could put on?”

I turn to frown at him. “You’re only wearing underwear.”

“Yeah, because it was the only thing I had time to pull on when you were banging my door in.”

I swallow hard, the image of a very naked Wyatt suddenly front and center in my brain. “You mean, you sleep naked?”

“Don’t you?”

I hold my hands out to my sides. “No, I sleep in this.”

“Might as well be naked,” he mutters and props his hands on his hips. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Wait.” I hold up a finger and listen, and sure enough. Chirp.

“It’s in there!” I run over to the studio and open the door, flip on the light, and it happens again. “I found it!”

“Are you running a brothel here?” Wyatt asks, catching my attention. “Or making porn?”

“Excuse me?”

“Or operating a sex club?” His eyes are pinned to the large bed in the middle of the space, the beautiful chaise lounges, and a dining table and chairs. His gaze moves to a rack full of costumes.

“Uh, no.”

Chirp.

“Would you please make that stop?” I ask. Wyatt snags a chair and stands on it to pull the smoke detector down to pop out the batteries. His body is long and lean, the muscles ridiculous. Summer is just starting, and he already looks tan. His mussed-up hair is begging for my fingers.

And the tattoos on his arm do things to me. Sexy, crazy things.

“There. You can replace these tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“Back to my question.”

“Why do you think I’m running some kind of sex show here?”

He laughs and glances around again, then shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know, it might have something to do with all of the sexy stuff in here, and the fact that people come and go from your house all the time.”

I take a look around the room and then chuckle. “Maybe I’m just popular, and I don’t like to leave the house?”

“Agoraphobia? Allergy to sunlight?”

I laugh and leave the studio, then march back into my house and feel Wyatt on my heels.

“Come on, you can tell me.”

“Why do you care?” I so don’t want to tell him all about my personal life.

“Call me curious.”

“Well, curious, I’m not running anything at all to do with sex here.” I lean on my countertop and fold my arms over my chest. “The studio out there is my cousin’s, and she takes boudoir photos for a living.”

“Ah,” he says with a nod. “You lease it out to her?”

“No. I’m renting the house from her.”

“I see.”

“All of these questions are annoying.”

His eyebrows climb into his messy hairline in surprise, and I can’t help but smirk. “And sexy.”

“Which is it? Annoying or sexy?”

“Annoyingly sexy.” His lips twitch, and I admit, I want those lips on me. Everywhere. Right now. “Are you attached to anyone, Wyatt?”