the bed, his tail catching the side table on the way down and sending two books, a glass of water, and the reading lamp crashing to the floor.
“Sit,” Marc yelled, and like everyone else in his life, Wingman ignored his authority and headed for the front door.
“Damn it, Wingman. I said sit.” Marc managed to clip the leash on right as Wingman barreled through the suite and down the hallway toward the elevator, barking excitedly. And most likely waking up every hotel guest on the top floor.
He managed to make it through the hotel lobby without anyone asking him for anything, which was why, he told himself, he was smiling like an idiot.
After Wingman sniffed every corner and peed on every tree, plant, and car tire on Main Street, they headed down the alley, giving a light knock when they came to her back door.
When no answer came, he stood back and looked up. Light poured through the back window. She was home…and awake.
After a long moment of silence from inside, he knocked again—this time louder. Wingman barked his good morning. Several times. Until Marc told him to quiet down. Then the two males took their place on the porch and waited.
Marc had come over here merely to do his job as her friend, to make sure she got out of the house and breathed in air that wasn’t laced with cumin or paprika. He also told himself he was a terrible liar. Marc had never liked mixing his morning run with a woman. They talked too much and complained about the sweat until the run became a leisurely walk through the park. And they insisted on wearing those skimpy shorts that were totally ineffective for working out, since all they inspired was a hard-on.
The door opened, and Marc was rendered stupid. He didn’t know why. There was nothing skimpy about the men’s striped pajama bottoms or pink tank top she wore, but they were effective as hell. Her golden hair was in complete disarray, her shirt stained, and her face was flushed and soft with sleep. Any other woman looking like a rumpled mess would have been a turnoff, but Lexi’s dazed eyes and just-rolled-out-of-bed expression made him want to take her back to bed—and crawl in beside her.
“What are you doing here?” she yawned, obviously not nearly as affected as he was.
“Picking you up for a leisurely morning walk in the park.” Wingman barked and tugged on the leash. “Well, more of a leisurely”—he paused, looking down at Wingman, who was looking back, waiting for him to say it so he could go batshit crazy—“r-u-n.”
She rubbed at her eyes. “What time is it?’
“Seven fifteen.” Marc guessed that Gabe didn’t roll Regan out of bed for their walk. Shit. “I saw the light on and thought you were up.”
“I was on baking duty today for the bakery. I finally got to sleep around six. And why would you think I’d want to go on a ru—?”
Marc shook his head in warning while he placed a single finger over Lexi’s lips, noticing how soft and full they were. She must have noticed something too, because her breathing stopped and her eyes went big. And damn if all Marc could picture was her naked.
“Because you’re my girlfriend. And walks are something that couples do together. In the park. With their dog. So go get dressed.” His eyes dropped to her chest. If he looked hard enough, he could make out the outline of her nipples through her shirt. God, she had great breasts. “Or not.”
Lexi crossed her arms, covering the best view he’d had all morning, and glared. “Then you need to find a girlfriend who doesn’t despise mornings.” Yeah, he’d forgotten about that. “It’s why I’m a chef and not a baker. Night owl. And should a real boyfriend show up at this god-awful hour, he’d have brought coffee.”
“Ah, cream puff, are you asking me out on a coffee date? I’m flattered.” Marc leaned against the doorframe, crossing one ankle over the other. “We can go after our walk. Maybe then do a little post-morning spooning.”
“No. And no. Part of the reason I agreed to this”—she motioned between them—“was because I would get time in the kitchen. Uninterrupted time.”
Marc ran a hand though his hair. Natasha would have said yes in a heartbeat, and so would nearly every single lady in St. Helena. Not this woman. She was stubborn, and confusing, and never did anything that Marc wanted her to.