The old wooden floor creaked under my bare feet as I stood in the Donovans’ kitchen well past midnight. Sara had crashed hours ago after our movie marathon, but sleep never came easy for me when I stayed over. Especially not when I knew Rhett was supposed to come home tonight. I tugged at the hem of the oversized t-shirt I wore, the one that barely reached mid-thigh. It was one of Sara’s old ones, soft and worn, but right now it felt way too short.

I opened the fridge and reached for the orange juice, the cool air brushing against my bare legs. That was when I heard the front door slam hard enough to make the walls shake. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. My heart jumped into my throat. He is here.

Rhett Donovan stepped into the kitchen like a storm rolling in. His broad shoulders filled the doorway. His dark hair was messy, jaw clenched tight, and those intense green eyes looked ready to burn holes through anything in front of him. The top buttons of his black shirt were undone, showing a glimpse of his chest. He stopped when he saw me standing there.

“Stellan?” His voice came out low and rough, surprised at first. Then his gaze dropped slowly down my body, taking in my bare legs and the way the t-shirt clung to me. Something dark flashed across his face. “What the hell are you doing down here dressed like that?”

I swallowed hard and closed the fridge door, the plastic jug still in my hands. My cheeks burned. I had been crushing on Rhett for almost three years, ever since Sara first brought me home. He was always the quiet, dominant type, always in control as if he owned the place. Being around him always made me feel small and nervous in the best and worst ways possible.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. I set the juice on the counter and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide how hard my nipples had gotten under the thin fabric. “Sara’s asleep. I didn’t think anyone would be home yet.” I lied.