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His jaw bunched almost violently, the muscles there jumping for several long seconds as he obviously ground his teeth over whatever he found offensive in her statement. And she really didn’t give a damn what he found offensive. She’d stopped caring when she’d realized how little taking her would mean to him.
“You’ll sleep right here, in my bed.” The snap in his voice had a surge of nervousness racing up her spine. “This is the most secure room in the house, the only one I’m one hundred percent certain can’t be bugged or accessed without my knowledge. That means this is where you will stay until I can figure out what the hell is going on.”
Her eyes widened.
“What about the kitchen?” He’d fixed breakfast, though they hadn’t talked much, she remembered.
“I took precautions. For the short time we were there, the precautions were enough. Over time, they’re not foolproof. And by god, I want foolproof,” he informed her, his tone deadly now.
Moving to the bed and jerking down the blankets on the left side, he then turned back to her, his expression still tense, his gaze fierce. “Sleep on this side. It’s the safest.”
“Why is it the safest?” She wondered if that was a question she should have asked at the moment. “Maybe I like sleeping on the right side of the bed.”
Did she really want the answer?
“Because I’m right-handed,” he drawled, the lazy response spoiled by the pure anticipation that flickered in his gaze. “I keep my weapon in easy access and I don’t want to be hindered by reaching for it with my left. And, baby, I’ve checked on you when you’ve stayed the night here. You sleep firmly on the left side of the bed and rarely move.”
Nope, she shouldn’t have asked. And she sure as hell didn’t need to know he’d watched her sleep.
“Perv.” She threw the accusation at him with a quick, disgusted narrowing of her eyes. “Really, Graham, I’m sure I should be surprised. But I guess I’m really not.”
The look that came over his face was one that had her stomach tightening, her nipples swelling, and the sensitive flesh of her clit pulsing with heated need.
Dammit, masturbating hadn’t been on her agenda before going to sleep, but at this rate . . .
“Perv?” he asked softly. “I can show you perv, sugar.”
Oh, yeah, she just bet he could. She had no doubts in her mind.
“Really?” Disbelief colored the short, mocking laugh that fell from her lips, though the question was weakened by the breathlessness that attacked her once again. “Sorry, stud, I never was much into being part of a crowd. I’m rather unique, you know.”
“Definitely unique.” The agreement was made with the air of a man who was most definitely considering the uniqueness of what she wasn’t offering.
The key word? Wasn’t.
But still, her knees were weak, her flesh too sensitive, the exhaustion that had been pulling at her suddenly dissipating, though a far too sensual drowsiness pulled at her as he began moving slowly toward her.
“I’m not sleeping with you, Graham. Forget it,” she snapped.
“The Chinese say if you save a life, then it’s forever your responsibility,” he informed her softly, completely ignoring the warning in her statement.
“Since we’re not in China—” she began, trying to speak over the rapid-fire beat of her heart.
“Doesn’t matter.” He was in front of her before she could take more than a few steps back. “I saved your life. You’re mine now, Lyrica.”
His chest brushed against the material of the shirt covering her breasts, exciting her already hardened nipples as she took another step away from him, her back meeting the wall.
She’d tried to ignore the fact that his chest was bare, that the light sprinkling of dark hair over its broad plane appeared far too warm. Just as she’d tried to ignore the fact that he, too, had showered. His hair was still damp, the fleece pants he wore loose. But they could never be loose enough to hide the erection rising hard and impressive beneath the material.
“Look at you,” he whispered, catching her hands as she moved to push against his chest, lifting them and securing them to the wall as his fingers curled between hers. “Wearing my shirt, naked and soft beneath it, and so damned certain you can rule me with all that feminine arrogance spitting from your eyes.”
Her eyes widened at the accusation. “I have no desire—”
“Don’t you?” Heavy, thickly lashed, his eyelids drifted over the hunger gleaming in his gaze, his attempt to hide it a forgotten exercise. “You have desire, Lyrica, and we both know it. You’ve been teasing me with those pretty emerald eyes since the first day we met six years ago.”
That first time. He’d been at the marina her cousin and his family owned, driving a wicked-fast ski boat, wearing nothing but cutoff jeans and dark glasses. Dawg had introduced them and Lyrica had fallen in love.
“That ended last winter.” It might have sounded more convincing if she hadn’t melted against him as pleasure ran through her body.
