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He sighed heavily again and began to scoot me over. I let him. Laying next to me, he pulled the covers over both of us. “Don't worry about it, she wasn't a very attentive mother anyhow."
He turned on his side, his back to me, and I stared at him, trying to figure out what to do. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He shook his head. "I want to sleep."
I didn't say anything, and suddenly the room descended into silence, except for the sound of the crickets outside. He began to snore softly, almost asleep within seconds. I shifted, trying to get comfortable but it was too hard with my wrists handcuffed to the bed.
"Prince Charming?" I suddenly, guiltily, realized I didn’t know his real name.
"Stop calling me that," he growled.
"I would if I knew your name," I grumped back.
"It's Coulter."
"Fine," I tried to be polite, "Coulter, would you please unlock my handcuffs? I promise I won't try to kill you. Not tonight, anyhow.”
He chuckled. "Not on your life."
"Please?" I shook my hips at him, trying to keep him awake. “With whipped cream and cherries on top?"
“I don’t use whipped cream on naughty girls. Only good girls get the cream.”
I swallowed down my response, not trusting my voice.
When I didn’t answer him, he turned towards me, a scowl on his face. “Go to sleep, little nightmare.”
I scowled back at him. “How come you get to call me Nightmare, but I can’t call you Prince Charming?”
He shifted, sitting up to lean on his elbow, and I was overcome by the sexy, musky smell of him. Manly, like cedar and suede.
He lifted his hand to clip my jaw, his thumb coming up to part my lower lip as he leaned closer to me.
Oh, Dios. Was he going to kiss me?
My heart pitter-pattered, fluttering like a butterfly in my chest. Rouge marred my cheeks with arousal and my body stilled under his touch.
Digging my nails into the skin of my palms to keep myself grounded, I held my breath, my tongue coming out to lick over his thumb as I stared into impassioned, golden eyes.
Did I actually want him to kiss me?
He was so close now, close enough that he could easily brush his lips over mine.
“Because,” he whispered, his cool breath washing over me. The scent of his musk marred my senses. “I’m neither a prince, nor charming.” Tension strung my whole body tight, and it was only when he released my chin that I realized how much I’d wanted him to kiss me. Disappointment coiled in my stomach as he laid back down, turning away from me. Dismissing me. “Now go to sleep knucklehead, before I smother you with my pillow.”
And, with that, he stilled, ignoring me. I tried to get comfortable, even though I was acutely aware of the heat of his body pressed to mine. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, and I hated the rejection burning inside me.
I closed my eyes, determining that I couldn’t trust this man and his impossibly sexy looks. I shielded a wall up around my heart and forced myself to sleep, resolute to hate him with every core of my being.
Six
I wanted to kill that little nightmare.
She drank my 49 Domaine Leroy wine. It had been Lily’s favorite and the one I’d been saving up to share with her after I proposed. Then, after she died, I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. I’d been tempted to smash it against the wall, so I’d shoved it under my bed, not wanting to destroy the symbol of our mutual love.
And when I’d walked in a few nights ago, with my room a crazy mess and her hair just as mussed…
She’d looked like a damn sexy siren, laid out on my bed with that bottle in her hand. Wine-stained, luscious lips pleading to be licked. Freckles on stark cheekbones, needing to be counted and kissed. One of my white shirts on, only half-way buttoned to show just enough of her tits to make my cock sit up and take notice. No friggin pants, and those damn sexy, tan, long legs that stretched for forever.
