“And that I’d eventually wake up to find a man in my bed? That wouldn’t freak me out?”

“Well… Okay, when you put it that way, this wasn’t one of my best plans.”

I bite back that smile even harder. “It was a horrible plan. Besides, you’re too big to tiptoe effectively.”

He huffs out a laugh, slowly walking closer. “What did you used to call me? Big oaf?”

“Only when you were treading on my feet and taking up all the room in the travel bus.”

With a nearly full moon and sheers covering the windows, there’s enough light to see him clearly now. Weariness deepens the natural laugh lines on his face, but he appears happy, his gaze on me.

“All failed attempts to get closer to you, Berry.” He says it like a joke. But there’s a ring of truth underneath that makes my heartbeat stutter. It begins to pound when he reaches behind his head and casually tugs off his shirt. “I’ll do my best to be more careful with you in the future.”

“Um.” I don’t even know what I’m saying. He’s slowly stripping, matter-of-fact about it and not in the least bit teasing. It’s holding my attention all the same. His belt buckle clinks, a sound that goes straight to my happy bits, and then he’s popping the buttons of his jeans.

Pop, pop, pop.

Good God, when did getting undressed become a symphony?

“You’re supposed to be in Chicago,” I blurt when his jeans hit the floor.

He stands perfectly still, that long, strong body bathed in the ambient light coming in from the windows. For a brief second, I almost pity those who can’t see him now, this Greek statue made into living flesh. Hercules on the prowl. My gaze drifts down. No tiny dick of antiquity there. A raging erection stands proud and waiting. I’m so distracted by that particular length of flesh that I almost miss his reply.

“Am I?” he asks.

“Are you what?”

Another soft laugh. “Supposed to be in Chicago. And stop looking at my dick unless you’re going to play with it.”

A flush hits my cheeks and snaps me out of my lusty fog. “Stop pointing it at me.”

His hard-on twitches. He grins. “It’s waving in surrender.”

I meet his gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“I got a craving for dogs.”

“Dogs?”

“Hot dogs, Berry. We’ll go get some tomorrow.”

“You came all the way out here for a hot dog?” I don’t know why I’m questioning him. I should be sending Rye on his way to one of the other bedrooms. But I’m too stupidly happy to tell him the sad truth, that we can’t have sex right now.

“They’re excellent hot dogs.”

“Better than Portillo’s?” The guys drag me there any time we go to Chicago, usually with Rye leading the charge.

“Are we really debating hot dogs? Or is this some weird foreplay talk?”

I can’t help grinning, but I fall back onto my pillow with a sigh. “Not foreplay.”

“Too bad. There’s like ten hot dog puns running through my head now.”

Rye is in the act of lifting the covers to slide into bed when I stop him. “I have my period, so you might as well go to another room.”

His forward momentum is too much for him to stop with any grace, and he ends up settling down next to me. “I know.”

“You know?” I turn on my side to face him. “How do you know I’m being tormented by Aunt Flo?”

Rye’s smile is quick as a flash of light. “Aunt Flo? Why the hell do you call her…oh, wait. Okay. Yeah, that’s a visual I didn’t need.”

Snickering, I burrow down farther in the bed, hugging a pillow to my belly. “Try living with the bitch.”

“Thank you, no.” Rye rests his head in his hand and smiles down at me.

The mix of tenderness and contentment in his eyes unnerves me, and I break eye contact, focusing instead on the massive swell of his shoulder muscle. That’s a distracting sight too, because I suddenly want to lick his skin. It’s safer than dealing with emotions when I’m currently a hormonal mess.

“You never answered my question,” I say to his chin. “How do you know?”

When he doesn’t speak, I glance up and find him grimacing. “What’s that look?” I’m half amused, half horrified. How does he know?

Rye scratches the side of his head, sending his thick hair up on end. “I’m trying to figure out how to answer without getting in trouble.”

“It had better be fast, or it’ll get worse.”

“I’d rather tell hot dog jokes.”

“I bet you would. No joy, Peterson. Talk.”

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. “Jax warned me never to bring up lady issues to a woman.”

“Good advice, given that you both have the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.”

“Yeah,” he admits then leans in a little. “But, really, Bren, is there a tactful way to talk about Aunt Flo?”

“True. Now, spill it.” I tweak his nipple, loving the way he yelps and rubs his chest with a scowl. It’s all show, since I didn’t pinch that hard. But it’s a good show, since I now can’t stop staring at his massive pecs. I want to be the one rubbing them.

Down girl. You can’t have sex.

“Evil pixie. I have a mind not to answer you.”

“Don’t make me pinch you again.” I wiggle my fingers in emphasis.

“Okay, okay. Put away the pincers.” Rye rests on his pillow, bringing his face closer to mine. His gaze slides over my features. It’s a lazy perusal as though he’s simply enjoying looking at me. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and unhurried. “Let’s put aside the fact that I can count, and it’s been a month since the last time she was around.”

“Ah. Right.”

He keeps talking as though I haven’t interrupted. “When evil Aunt Flo is about to come knocking at your door, you start switching from coffee regular to mocha lattes. You put your hair in a low, loose braid, which makes me think you get headaches.”

Dazed, I nod. “Feels like someone’s kicked my skull.”

“Poor baby.” Rye reaches out slowly. The tips of his fingers trace a small line along my temple then slide into my hair to stroke it. “You start favoring those pretty jersey dresses that skim your long body instead of those sexy tight skirts that hug your fine ass. Sophie once complained to everyone in the room that her womb feels like there’s a war being waged inside when she’s on the rag, so I’m guessing looser clothes are more comfortable.”

“You pay more attention than I thought,” I whisper thickly.

The blunt, callused tips of his fingers caress my jaw. “When are you going to believe me? I notice everything about you, Berry.”

I’m struck silent, little fissures forming around the edges of my heart. Would it be too much to ask for just one kiss? Probably. Definitely. I’d want more.

“Oh,” he says as if remembering something. “And you wear that vanilla and caramel cookie scent when dealing with Flo. Until the day it’s over, when you switch to celebratory lemon cake perfume. Both of which, by the way, drive me absolutely frantic to take a bite out of you.”