Chapter Eight
Beau’s feet were freezing, but the rest of him sweated under a strangely heavy fleece blanket. A way-too-warm fleece blanket. Apparently the blanket agreed, because it wiggled, and shifted, and then grew a leg and kneed him in the balls hard enough to make him grunt—and wake up.
A mass of blonde hair greeted his bleary eyes, and beneath the wayward strands he saw Savannah’s sleeping face. Dark blonde lashes didn’t so much as flutter. The imprint from the edge of the pillowcase creased one cheek. She had his blue comforter wrapped around her like a cocoon, with one smooth, slim leg kicked free and slung across his waist.
His abused balls immediately forgave her, and now he sweated for entirely different reasons. Reasons like imagining sliding his hand along her thigh, easing her onto her back and unwrapping her from the layers of blanket, sheets, and robe until he reached the warm flesh beneath. Waking her slowly—and then quickly—until she tangled her fingers in his hair and screamed loud enough to let everyone in the entire building know she was having a good morning.
Bad idea. They’d both agreed not to act on the attraction. Best to remove himself from temptation, because every se
cond he remained here with her he got a little dumber. He slid out of bed as stealthily as possible and turned off his alarm. Whatever plans she had this morning, he doubted they required her to wake up at six. She snuggled into the warm spot left by his body and mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Gotta check the pie.”
Sweet dreams, Savannah.
He started his shower with a blast of frigid water, which took care of the lingering disagreement between his dick and his brain. After dressing for work, he headed to the kitchen and filled his commuter mug. Then he took a ceramic mug from the cabinet for his guest, but noticed the one sitting behind it and grabbed that one instead. It suited the occasion better. A brief rummage through his junk drawer turned up a notepad and pen. He scribbled a message to his fiancée and left both note and coffee on the nightstand next to sleeping beauty, who had managed to kick off all the covers and most of her robe in the time he’d been gone. She lay facedown across his bed, with one of nature’s best works of art on full display. Two shallow dimples guarded a perfect heart-shaped ass. For a pulse-pounding moment he imagined leaning over her, bracketing the spectacular sight, and rousing her with the kind of kiss destined to leave a mark on her and make him late for work. He could practically hear her moan his name in a sleep-husky voice, and feel her arch up, lift her hips to offer him—
A slap in the face, at worst, and a whole lot of complications, at best. Get moving, Montgomery. The only thing you’re riding today is a desk.
A half hour later he stood in the break room, pouring his second cup of coffee when his partner, Hunter, wandered in. The rangy blond propped his hip against the counter, sipped his coffee, and smirked. “So, Humpty Dumpty, do anything exciting for Thanksgiving?”
Beau deliberately took his time topping off his mug and setting the carafe back on the warming plate. He waited until his partner had a mouthful of coffee before saying, “Got engaged.”
Hunter choked, and then erupted into coughs. “Holy shit. I did not see that coming.”
“Me either.”
Hunter pulled a small flashlight from his chest pocket and shined the beam into Beau’s eye. “Exactly how hard did you get hit in the head?”
He jerked his head away. “Cut it out. My brain’s functioning just fine. In fact, I had a flash of genius.” To prove it, he laid out the pertinent points of his so-called engagement.
“Holy shit,” Hunter repeated at the end of the explanation. “You’re temporarily in bed with the tasty little blonde across the hall?”
“We’re not ‘in bed,’ blockhead.” But they had been, last night, and waking up next to her had felt better than he cared to admit.
“Hunter Knox, I’m not your maid, and I’m not cleaning the rig all by myself,” an exasperated female voice interrupted. “Fetch your coffee, kiss your work-wife good-bye, and get your ass out to the garage.”
Beau glanced past his partner to an irate brunette who managed to look like a Hollywood version of a paramedic despite the standard-issue white shirt and dark blue utility pants. “Hey, Ashley.”
The shift supervisor’s flashing gray eyes switched to him and grew a little less irate. “Hi, Beau. How’s the head?”
“Still attached.”
“Try to keep it that way. The fewer calls I have to ride out on with the deadweight you call a partner, the better off the greater Atlanta area will be.”
“Pardon me for taking an extra minute, whip-cracker. My partner just told me he got engaged.”
“Oh, wow. Congratulations.” She crossed the room and gave him a hug. “I’m really happy for you.”
Over her shoulder he sent Hunter a glare he hoped conveyed his utter What the fuck? But his so-called partner refused to look him in the face. Ashley drew away, and Beau dredged up a smile for her. “Thanks.”
“I’ll want all the details later.” She took a step back. “And you have to bring her to the holiday party and introduce her.” Her attention clicked to Hunter, and her smile disappeared. “If you’re not out helping me clean the truck in three minutes, I’m going to back it over you.” With the threat hanging in the air, she turned on her heel and walked out.
As soon as she left, Beau punched his partner hard in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Ow.” Hunter punched him back. “Nothing. I wanted her to know why I got distracted. You’re the one pretending to be engaged. I’m just making it look real.”
“I’m pretending to be engaged to my parents, and Savannah’s family. Not my coworkers. Not every ER doctor, nurse, and orderly in Atlanta.”
“So what if they think you’re engaged? Where’s the harm? It’s not like you’re dating anyone else, or almost dating anyone, or contemplating dating anyone.”