Also, awake me needs to put a stop to this. Immediately.
But fuck it feels good, Nick’s fingers hitting all of the spots he still, even after all these years, even in the muddled state of half-asleep, knows turn me on.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a man in my bed, and I forgot how good it feels.
But no. This isn’t right. Even if I did want to be wrapped up in Nick Matthews, which I clearly do not, the man is still asleep and obviously has no idea what he’s doing.
“Nick.” I place my hand on his forearm, the one currently locked around my waist, keeping our bodies pressed tightly together. I give his arm a little shake, but his only response is to find my hand and lace our fingers together.
He rocks his hips, letting out another groan, and he’s so hard I want to reach in between us and stroke him.
Wait. What?
I definitely do not want to do that.
I turn over, repeating his name until his hazel eyes fly open.
In the few quiet moments before he realizes what’s going on, he gives me a soft, sleepy smile, like this is right where he wants to be. Like this is right where we’re supposed to be.
“Hi,” he says, his voice croaky—and not at all sexy—with sleep.
“Good morning.” I raise my eyebrows, looking down at our bodies tangled together.
Realization dawns in his eyes, and I start laughing at how quickly he scrambles away from me.
He pushes out of the bed so fast he almost face-plants on the floor. “Shit. Jess. I’m so sorry. I did not…I never meant…fuck.” He plops onto the floor next to the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest, which can’t be comfortable given the state his dick was in.
“It’s fine. We were both asleep. Dream me was a willing participant.”
He covers his face with his hands. “Still. You didn’t want to share a bed with me, and I poked until you gave in, and then I went and did the exact thing you didn’t want to happen.”
“Are you sure ‘poked’ is the word you want to use there?” I attempt to lighten the mood with a joke, but when he doesn’t laugh, I crawl across the bed, lying on my belly so the two of us are near eye level. “Hey. There was no malicious intent. We’re two people who clearly used to be attracted to each other. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”
I hop up from the bed on the opposite side from where he’s still hunched on the floor. “There isn’t going to be a tonight, remember? I’m going home.” I throw open the curtains, letting in the bright morning light.
Also letting in the reality that there is no way in hell I’m going anywhere today.
Thick blankets of snow completely cover the ground, and though nothing is falling from the sky at this current moment, it’s an ominous sort of white, almost blending in with the ground below, which means it won’t be long before it opens up and dumps on us once again.
“Shit.” Nick has abandoned the floor and stands behind me. He echoes my unspoken sentiments.
“Maybe a room has opened up.” I offer the suggestion half-heartedly, knowing all of the other hotel guests are trapped here just as I apparently am.
At that moment the phone rings, and Nick crosses the room to answer.
I tune out the conversation confirming what we already know, instead taking in the details of the room I tried to block out the night before. It really is an adorable little hotel, and if circumstances weren’t what they are, I would love to be spending a night or two of the holiday season here.
Our room—Nick’s room, I mean—isn’t overly decorated, like they somehow knew he’s an incognito Grinch. But there’s a beautiful wreath hanging on the back of the door, and the blankets on the bed are a red and green plaid. There’s a small wooden table next to the one armchair and on it sits a bottle of whiskey with a red bow tied around the neck.
I finger the tag, not caring that I shouldn’t intrude on Nick’s gift.
Congrats on Romance Author of the Year! You deserve the honor and many more. We’re so happy to have you as a member of the SVP family.
The note is handwritten and signed by the president and publisher himself.
I force myself not to yank the tag from the bottle and rip it to shreds. Safe to say the publisher of SVP has never sent me so much as an email.
