The Family You Make (Sunrise Cove #1)

“Uh-huh,” Jane said, fascinated by Charlotte’s sudden blush. “And the love bite on your throat?”

“Shit.” Charlotte slapped a hand right to the spot. With her free hand she jabbed her paintbrush in Jane’s direction. “You know what? I’m pulling a Jane. We’re not talking about it. Ever. Because if we were to talk about it, that would be putting it out there into the universe for karma to mess it up somehow.”

Jane stared at her for a long beat. “Fair. So . . . we’re just going to paint?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Jane dipped her brush into the paint again. “Just tell me it was Mateo.”

Charlotte grinned dopily. “It was Mateo.”

Jane laughed, then stilled at the unmistakable meow right behind her. She turned and found Cat sitting there in the hallway, watching with her sharp gray eyes. “How did you get back inside?”

“I’ve got the basement window cracked open,” Charlotte said.

Cat sauntered closer, all the way to Jane’s door, which she gave a light, half-assed scratch to with her front paw.

“I think she’s knocking,” Charlotte said dryly.

Jane opened her bedroom door.

Cat stared at her for a long beat, then walked inside, head and tail high, as if she owned the place. Then she jumped up on Jane’s bed and made herself at home.

On Jane’s pillow.

Jane felt the last piece of her heart click into place and looked at Charlotte. “So . . . can we add a pet clause on that billion-year lease?”





Chapter 24


A few minutes later, Charlotte crawled into bed, satisfied from Jane’s reaction to her newly painted bedroom door, but also still smiling a little dreamily about how she’d spent the earlier part of the evening.

In Mateo’s bed.

And Mateo’s shower . . .

Then his bed again.

Okay, yes, she’d then sneaked out of said bed and back to her place, but baby steps, right? Besides, he probably hadn’t even realized that she’d left. She plumped up her pillow and told herself to go to sleep. She’d just finally drifted off when she was jerked awake by a knock at the front door. “No,” she said out loud.

When the knock came again, she blew out a breath and slipped out of bed. Because nothing good ever happened at three in the morning, she grabbed the fireplace poker on the way to the front door. She looked through the peephole and froze.

Mateo.

And he didn’t look thrilled. Huh. Okay, so maybe he’d minded her sneaking out. But really, he should be thanking her. She was a restless sleeper and she liked to sleep diagonally across the bed and—

“I know you’re in there, Charlotte,” came his sleep-roughened voice. Which for the record, was almost as good as his sex-roughened voice. “I can hear you breathing.”

That actually couldn’t be true, because the minute he’d spoken, she’d stopped breathing.

“Charlotte.”

With a grimace, she opened the door.

Mateo took in the sight of her. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, which she’d stolen. Nothing else. Well, except the fireplace poker. Not to mention her undoubtedly defensive attitude. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” she asked.

“Good question.” He stood there in the freezing night wearing nothing but a pair of sweat bottoms, looking rumpled and roughly sexy—and good God, was that a bite mark on his neck?

She’d bitten him too?

“Normally,” he said, “I prefer to share breakfast with the person I just slept with. But then again, you didn’t sleep. Instead, you waited for me to fall asleep and then sneaked out. In the middle of the night. While it was snowing. Without a coat or your shoes. Without so much as a note.” He gave a long once-over. “What kind of a southern woman doesn’t leave a missive, Charlotte?”

Guilt swamped her and she sagged, dropping the poker. “I know, I’m sorry, it was awful of me, but I didn’t know what to do.”

Pushing off from the doorjamb, he took a step toward her, still not touching her with anything other than that piercing dark gaze. “You didn’t know what to do,” he repeated, sounding like he was trying to make sense of that.

She wanted to take a few steps back from him because she needed thinking room, which was hard with his larger-than-life presence filling up the entire foyer. But she didn’t move away because she didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him.

She wasn’t.

She was afraid of her own heart, of what that heart wanted. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said again, softer now.

“Okay, then let me make a suggestion.” He took another step until they were toe-to-toe. Lifting a hand, he traced a finger along her jaw. “After we make love, after we have pillow talk and cuddle, after you do that sexy-as-hell thing where you curl into me, murmur my name in that sensual little sated sigh, and close your eyes . . . you don’t sneak out into the winter night wearing, near as I can tell, next to nothing. Instead, you talk or yell, laugh, cry . . . hell, climb on top of me and ride me like a bronco again, whatever you want. Sleep is also a good option.”

“I didn’t ride you like a bronco.”

He gave her a heated look, which made her blush. He was right. She’d ridden him like a bronco and had practically yelled giddyup while she was at it. “Okay, one time.”

“And after?”

Damn. Yeah. After, she’d curled into him and closed her eyes, trying to soak up his warm, hard body and the way it held hers, marveling at how he had a way of making her feel safe and secure. “But staying the night, that’s what girlfriends do.”

“Yeah. And?”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Really?” He shifted in closer now, so that they were sharing air. Like they had when they’d had their mouths fused to each other, sharing deep, sensual, erotic kisses . . . “Because only a few hours ago it felt a hell of a lot like you were my girlfriend. Like when you—”