Keeley groaned when a pounding sound breeched her consciousness. She didn’t bother opening her eyes. Any o’clock on a Sunday was too early for someone to be outside making a racket. The pounding stopped, as it should. She snuggled further under the covers and let herself slide back into sleep.

“Out of bed, princess.”

“Shh. Sleeping.” Dream Owen should let her sleep. In the darkest hours of the night, Dream Owen had been outrageously sexy, leaving her wanting. If he was going to be like that in the middle of the night, he could leave her alone in the morning. Dream Owen had lost his chance and now she only wanted sleep.

The quilt and bedding she’d pulled up around her ears was rudely yanked down. “Last chance, sweetheart. Out of bed.”

“Thought I was princess.”

“Got that right.”

That didn’t even make sense. She tried to tug the blanket back but gave up. “If you’re gonna leave me all hot and bothered again, you can just go away,” she mumbled.

The mattress dipped and she managed to open one eye. A sharp gaze burning with the bluest part of the flame bored into her.

“You’re not Dream Owen, you’re Real-Life Owen.”

“Real-Life Owen is very interested in what Dream Owen was up to.”

Braced with his hands planted in her pillow on either side of her head, and, yep, arm tendons rippling, he leaned over her. His gaze traveled from the top of her head down, heating her skin like a physical touch. She really hoped her oversized sleep shirt hadn’t slipped down to reveal boob.

Her jaw cracked with a yawn. Yeah, that was sexy. “What are you doing here?”

He closed his eyes, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “Trying my damnedest not to swallow you hole.”

“Too bad you’re not Dream Owen.” If he was Dream Owen she’d tug him down next to her to cuddle while they both drifted back to sleep. Or maybe they’d have sexy times and then go off to dream land. But nope, Real-Life Owen wasn’t interested. At least she didn’t think so but maybe swallowing her hole was a sexy innuendo? She’d have to think about it after caffeine had been consumed.

He straightened with a sigh as weary as any eighty-year-old’s. “Goddamn it.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, his whiskers making a nice crinkly sound that gave her goosebumps. Everything about him, from the way he filled out his faded Levi’s to the outline of his pecs on his navy knit shirt, gave her goosebumps. Feeling slightly more clear headed, she studied him. He looked to be waging an internal war with an uncertain outcome. He wanted her, that much was evident given the substantial bulge in his jeans. A new development, but given his behavior he didn’t want to want her.

She sat up, pulling the bedding around her shoulders like a shroud. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my bedroom?”

“I’m here because I promised to help you get your shit unpacked and stowed in the garage. I’m in your bedroom because your door was unlocked.”

She rubbed a fist across her forehead. Sex dreams featuring the man standing in front of her followed by said man in the flesh – no, flesh wasn’t a word she should be thinking if she didn’t want to combust on the spot – was making her feel more than a little like she’d been sucked up by a tornado and then spit out a mile down the road.

“I didn’t leave my door unlocked. Did you bring coffee?” She had more to say but it’d have to wait because, again, caffeine. The struggle was real.

“Me standing here is evidence the door was unlocked.” Real-Life Owen gave a head shake. “You got a coffee maker?”

She nodded.

“I’ll put the coffee on, you get your ass out of bed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in five minutes.”

It was closer to ten minutes before Keeley shuffled into the kitchen.

“Bunny slippers?” He leaned back against the counter holding one of her white crockery mugs. His face might appear to be perfectly expressionless but she’d been paying attention and was learning the silent language of Owen. It was subtle, but there was something around his eyes that suggested a hint of humor.

“Shut up.” She got creamer from the fridge and saw him wince when she poured a generous amount into her mug. “You judging me?”

He wisely shook his head. “Hell no. Why ̶ ”

Finger raised to forestall his question, she sipped the ambrosia of the gods. “Too many words.” She pointed to the halfway mark on her mug. “About here. No more words until coffee has been consumed to this point.”

He frowned, which was actually helpful for her equilibrium because it was normal and helped banish her sexy Owen dreams. She shuffled to the fridge and took out a bag of whole grain English muffins. She held them up with raised brows. He nodded. Communication with no words. Perfect. Within minutes toasted English muffins on pretty plates, a bowl of sliced bananas, peanut butter, and a jar of the boysenberry jam she’d made the previous summer were all on the little dining table with its cheerful tablecloth.

Owen took the seat opposite her. He spread peanut butter and jam on a half muffin, eating a good portion of it in one bite.

Peanut butter, banana slices, jam – she bit into the goodness. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day. It was twenty minutes where she could savor the simple pleasures of toast and coffee before tackling whatever the rest of the day had in store. And somehow this morning she had the moody and hunky gorgeousness that was Owen Hardesty sitting across from her.

He glanced at her mug. “We safe to talk now?”

She gave him a sunny smile and nodded. “Yep. It’s all good.”

He paused, seemingly snagged by her smile. That was a nice boost to the ego.

“All good,” she went on, “except for you coming in my house and in my bedroom without an invitation. Why is that?”

“You weren’t answering your door. I was concerned, so I tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.”

He said it like that explained everything. “Still not seeing it, big guy. I’m pretty sure I locked my door, but even if I hadn’t, that doesn’t somehow imply permission for you to wander in.”

“I was making sure you were safe. Someone vandalized your car, remember? Maybe you were targeted. That means you could be in danger. You can’t leave your house open.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say?” He was back with the scowls and growls.

“About that? Yes. I should have double-checked that I’d locked up last night. It was late, I was tired, and I must have forgotten. I’ll do better.” She took another sip of coffee. “That still doesn’t explain you being in my bedroom.”

“That’s where you were, so that’s where I went.” His expression shifted and she had zero trouble reading exactly where his thoughts had gone because his eyes smoldered. Yes, smoldered. Like they’d done when he’d leaned over her, caging her in with his hands fisted in her pillow. She’d open a window to let in the bracing mountain air if it wouldn’t give away that he’d gotten her hot with just a look. “You have a sex dream about me, princess?”

Holy smokin’ moly. His already low voice had lowered to bedroom voice, the type of bedroom voice that whispered dirty, seductive words in the darkness.

He quirked a brow and she opened her mouth to reply, reply what, she had no idea. The front door swung open and she was saved from having to answer.