Divorced, Desperate, and Delicious

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

 Lacy twisted in her sleep, only to have the clinking of metal against metal startle her awake. She lay there staring at the ceiling while her brain registered several thoughts at once: handcuffs, sexy man, length or girth?

Turning her head to the side, she saw that her free hand rested low on Chase Kelly’s abdomen. Right beside his “length and girth!” She blinked, swallowed, and offered up a quick Hail Mary that he still slept.

Raising her gaze to his face, she swallowed again. The prayer might have worked if she’d been Catholic. As it was, he stared right into her eyes—directly into her Presbyterian soul.

“You crossed over to my half of the bed.” His devilish eyebrows quirked up and his green eyes, filled with sin and heat, glittered with humor.

She jerked her hand away. “You’ve napped. Now leave.” She knew he’d slept because she’d spent at least an hour watching his chest move up and down before she’d succumbed to sleep herself. During those slow sixty minutes, she’d mentally gone over her entire conversation with Sue. She didn’t know which of Sue’s statements caused her more mortification—the vet licking her wounds, screwing the FedEx man’s brains out, or becoming a lesbian. Embarrassment flared inside her and she considered going after Sue with the fish next. But guilt bit her, too. Had she even congratulated Sue on her letter about her book?

The clock on the bedside table caught her attention. It was almost five and she’d wasted all day in bed—with a sexy man, but that was beside the point.

He rose up on his elbows. His biceps tightened. The sight of his T-shirt, soft white cotton pressing against hard muscles, made her mouth go dry. She frowned.

“Are you always grumpy when you first wake up? How about I fix us some coffee?” His gaze moved around the bed, studying Sweetie Pie, Leonardo and Fabio.

Then he caught sight of the newest addition. Samantha, the shy gray tabby, stared at him as if she hadn’t realized he’d been there. She meowed, dashed off, then scurried under the bed.

“How many cats do you have?” he asked.

Lacy frowned, remembering what her mother had said about a woman with more than three cats. “Just three. And I’d rather you leave, as opposed to fixing coffee.”

He sat up, scowling as if still in pain. “Do you take cream and sugar or drink it black?”

She dropped back on her pillow and studied the ceiling without answering. When he didn’t continue moving, she turned her cheek to rest on the pillow and looked at him. He remained sitting up, staring at Leonardo sleeping between his knees.

He glanced up from the cat to her. “You know, we should get a bigger bed.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned away. He chuckled and the mattress shifted as he rose.

“Do you need to go to the restroom?” he asked.

“No.” She needed him to uncuff her and get the heck away.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He groaned as he moved. “Damn, it hurts.”

“You were shot. What do you expect?”

“I don’t think that’s what’s hurting,” he said. “It was the fall.”

“You fell, too? What did you fall off of?”

He ignored her question and asked his own. “Your coffeemaker doesn’t talk, does it?”

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