“What?”
But his body just crowds mine, so I scurry to the side like a maimed crab. Before I even cross the middle of the bed, one of Luc’s arm hooks me around my middle and tilts me onto my side. He stretches out behind me and tugs me into him, spoon-wise.
At first, all I feel is shock. But then all I know is Luc. The length of his body pressed to mine. His delicious heat soaking into my freezing skin. His arm like an iron band across my stomach, caging me to him.
And my sigh is like the breaking of a dam. Luc feels so good I could weep. I nearly do. The ache in my throat doubles with it, and I can’t speak. Can’t thank him for giving me this gift.
Instead, I lay my right arm over his. He gives me a squeeze in response.
“Better?” he asks.
I’m not shaking anymore. This must be obvious. But the chance of sobbing as I draw breath is high, so I hold it and nod instead of answering. He can’t see, but with my head tucked into the hollow beneath his chin, I know he can feel it.
How is it possible that he’s here, holding me, right when I need to be held?
How is it that he knows exactly what I need—what we all need—every time? Whether we need to smash some tile or kick the soccer ball in the yard or eat chicken tortilla soup.
Or be kissed.
And how come, whatever we need, he just gives it?
Of its own accord, my hand squeezes his forearm. It’s slight, but he nuzzles the top of my head in response.
How is it that he doesn’t have a girlfriend?
At least, I don’t think he does. Would he have kissed me? Be lying in bed with me if he did?
No. No. Definitely not. Not the man who fired a guy for talking about my loose caboose. That’s not the sort of man who cheats.
Luc is a good man. He should be with someone who has all kinds of good to give back to him.
This thought does nothing to help the ache in my throat, but I swallow against it anyway.
“What are you even doing here?” I rasp.
He exhales, and I feel it in my hair. “I’ll tell you in the morning. Go to sleep.”
I realize he’s probably exhausted. But as bad as I feel, I’ve been sleeping for hours. I’m wide awake. And what’s happening now—me, lying in Luc’s arms—will never happen again. So I want to savor it.
I lie here, taking it in. It would be wrong. I know it would be wrong to touch him after he falls asleep. Nowhere creepy like below the belt. I’m not a perv.
But his hands. The curve of his shoulder. The spots where his dimples hide.
I won’t do it of course, but I get a heady thrill knowing I could.
But when he falls asleep, I am so going to turn over so I can look at him. Even in the dark, I know how beautiful he is. And if I can stay awake until the sun comes up, who knows how long I can look?
He’s so beautiful.
For now, I’ll have to content myself with the feel of him behind and around me. And that’s pretty damn good, I have to admit. The steel of his thighs against the back of mine. His chest pressed to my spine. Luc’s arm wrapped around me feels like it belongs there. Like I belong here.
I know I don’t. But I can pretend for one night.
Pretend that I have this every night. And then I can remember it. The way I remember his kisses.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
I jump like I’ve been caught stealing. My heart practically hammers in my nose. Has Luc been listening to my thoughts for the last ten minutes? I can tell now he has been awake. His muscles haven’t relaxed. His breathing hasn’t drawn out.
