Chapter 6

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Della felt a tickle against her temple and went to wipe it away. Then the tickle hit the back of her hand.

Her eyes popped open with a start. The tickle was someone’s breath, easy in and easy out, wisps of air.

And that someone was Steve.

Steve, asleep in bed with her. Steve, on his side, sharing her pillow.

Steve, not even the least bit ugly, with dark long lashes resting against his upper cheek. His equally dark brown hair lay scattered across his brow.

Asleep, he looked younger, except for his five o’clock shadow. She tried to remember if she’d felt any of that stubble when he’d kissed her last night at the restaurant. She hadn’t. But she wanted to run her fingers across his chin now.

Her gaze shifted downward to her chest, to her not-so-big boobs. The sheet had slipped down around her waist.

Frowning, she snatched the sheet up and wondered if Steve had been privy to the view before he’d fallen asleep. Of course he had, she realized, he’d been the one to remove her bra and play doctor when he dressed her wound. A depressing thought hit. Had he been disappointed that she wasn’t bigger?

She stared at the two slight mounds now pushing against the sheet—finding a bit of hope that they were a little bigger than they used to be. In the last few months, she’d actually started to fill out a B cup. Not that she aspired to get to a C cup like Miranda and Kylie. But a full B or B+ would be nice.

She glanced to her left side and lowered the sheet just a bit to see her bandage. It didn’t look like a half-assed job. Shifting her shoulder, she realized it must have healed, because there wasn’t even the slightest amount of pain. Then she looked at her arm where another bandage was.

She vaguely remembered Steve waking her up and making her drink blood two or three times. She also recalled him telling her yesterday that his mom was a doctor. Was he considering becoming a doctor himself? He should. The boy had what it took.

Reaching up, she loosened the bandage below her shoulder blade to see the wound. The cut still showed, but it was close to being healed.

“It looks good,” a deep, sleepy voice said beside her.

She cut her eyes to the guy sharing the mattress with her and glared. “Get out of my bed.”

He grinned. “Technically, it’s my bed. I rented the room.”

She frowned. “It’s too early to be logical!”

He chuckled. “Actually, it’s not early, either.”

She sat up a little, holding the sheet to her chest, and vaguely recalled not being able to sit up earlier. “What time is it?”

He rolled over and looked at the clock on the bedside table. “Six.”

“That’s early,” she said.

“In the afternoon.” He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and looked adorable doing it.

“Wait. It’s six in the afternoon? Shit!” She sat up straighter. “I slept all freaking day? Burnett’s probably livid. I was supposed to check in.”

“I did.”

She frowned. “You told him I was hurt!”

“No, well I did, but I downplayed it—a lot. I had to tell him you had to fight because the whole burning warehouse and sightings of giant lions made the news.”

She recalled him turning into a lion both at the warehouse with the rogues and to fight off the weres. “You were spotted?”

“A drunk in the alley, so it’s not too bad.”

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