Page 61 of Something Like Shelter

My heart swelled at that.

That had always been my job—closing down the house for the night. Aside from when I’d been living at home, I’d never had someone else to check the locks and close the curtains and make sure everything was safe so I could sleep peacefully.

I was perfectly capable of doing it.

But felt unexpectedly nice to have someone else do it for me. I loved how Owen took the initiative. It was exactly the kind of thing I felt you could expect from a man like Owen. Everything about him was mature, capable, and considerate. Maybe even a little protective.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged it off.

“I’ll let you get settled,” I said.

I grabbed Adelaide, took her into the nursery for a feeding, change, and rock to sleep before going into the primary suite to change into pajamas. Not my usual matching set. Because despite knowing it was borderline pathetic, I wanted to look my best with Owen in the house. So I reached for one of my nightgowns. Not one of the ones that could be called a nightie, but not a house dress either. It was a V-neck with wide straps that hid my bra and fell about mid-thigh in a soft baby yellow color.

Then, as the air kicked on, chilling my skin, I fabricated a reason to go into Owen’s room.

A spare blanket in case he got chilly. Because, you know, that was a common complaint about men I knew. Men who kept their thermostats at arctic levels.

But I wasn’t letting my logic talk me out of it.

I grabbed one of my nicest blankets and walked to the guest room, finding the door open, so I stepped inside.

To find it empty.

Deciding to take that as a sign, I was going to drop the blanket on the foot of the bed and leave.

When he came walking in from the hallway.

From the shower.

Because he was wearing nothing but a towel.

My mouth went dry.

And a strange choking sound worked its way up my throat then escaped in something that sounded embarrassingly like a whimper.

“Willa,” he said, straightening.

“I, um—” I couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no. I just…”

“Brought me a blanket?” he asked, gaze slipping from my face. Which gave me the perfect opportunity to let my own gaze sweep over him.

And there was a lot to take in—the width of his shoulders, the indents of his abdominal muscles, the corded muscles of his biceps, and the delicious V of his Adonis belt that disappeared into the towel.

“Yes,” I said when my gaze leisurely made its way back to his face.

To find him already watching me, a slight quirk to his lips that said I was absolutely caught ogling him.

I turned, pressing the blanket onto the edge of the bed while hoping I didn’t look as flushed as I felt.

When I straightened, I’d either miscalculated how close he’d been before, or he’d taken a step or two closer.

My breasts nearly grazed his chest as I turned to face him again.