Merry Christmas, Baby
Chloe came awake aware of two things: one, she was alone in the bed, and two, she didn’t like being alone in the bed. She sat up and blearily blinked into focus a sight that immediately had her brain clearing.
And her body humming.
“Officer Hottie,” she murmured, and had the pleasure of seeing the big, badass, steely man grimace at the nickname he hated.
Five years and she still loved to poke the bear. And right now the bear stopped shoving things into a duffel bag and looked at her, quiet and assessing, taking her temperature from across the room. “You’re awake.”
“Seems like,” she answered, hearing the exhaustion in her voice.
Evidently Sawyer did as well. His mouth tightened slightly as his eyes scanned her from head to toe. Whatever he saw had him moving from his duffel bag to the side of the bed, where he stood looking down at her. His dark brown eyes could be cool and unreadable—his cop eyes—or soft, melting chocolate, like when he was feeling frisky, though she hadn’t seen that side of him lately.
Your fault, she reminded herself, and tried to swallow the ball of anxiety over the fact that he was leaving for one of his dangerous DEA jobs while they were barely speaking. You’re the one who picked a fight over his job, which is as much a part of him as you are…