I wash my face and slap on moisturizer and lip balm, then change into the pajamas I packed—certainly not sexy—heather-gray jogger pants with a matching long-sleeved, Henley-style top. With no make-up, especially eye make-up, I look like a white rabbit.
I emerge and put my clothes away, get myself a glass of water then trek to the couch. I find Carson stretched out on his back, eyes closed, hands on his flat abdomen.
“Get off.” I nudge gently. “If I have to arm wrestle you off here, I will.”
He snorts. “Just try it.”
I’m a little stubborn and my need to win battles with my selfish inclination to just take the big, comfy king bed. I’m not in the best mood after my conversational missteps, so I set down my water and grab his arm, curling my fingers around his meaty biceps. I tug on him and, catching him unawares, he slides half off the couch.
“Fuck!” He rolls to the floor and bounces up. “What the fuck, Ayla.”
I try to hide my mirth. “You said to do it.”
He blows out a breath like I’m testing the last fibers of his patience, plants his hands on his lean hips, and regards me with hazel eyes that are sparking gold right now. “You’re sleeping in the bed.” And he dips his knees, slides his arms under my butt, and lifts me over his shoulder.
I let out a screech, smacking at his back as he walks over to the bed. I’m prepared for him to toss me down, but instead, he gently lowers me to the mattress. I lay there, panting, staring up at him. Fuck, that was hot.
Oh God.
He points at me, eyes stern. “Stay there.”
And he goes back to the couch.
“You need a pillow and a blanket!” I call breathlessly.
“Yeah. I got it.” He grabs them from the chair and makes himself a makeshift, terrible bed. Before he lays down again, he turns off all the lights, and the fire is the only glow in the room.
As if I’m going to be able to sleep now. I’m quivering inside, hands curled into fists, my mind racing like a thoroughbred at the Derby.
The feel of his hands on me… the feel of his big body under me as he carried me… the care he used to set me down… I’m a puddle of melting goo. I loved many things about him, but right now, I’m thinking about how much I loved his strength, his height and powerful muscles and how he used those so gentlywith me. I watched him smash guys into the board and punch them in the face, but with me, he was nothing but tender and mindful, okay, sometimes filthy and bossy and controlling, but never scary.
I crawl under the billowy duvet and burrow into the bed. I’m vibrating, a distinct ache between my legs. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. Clearly, I need it. This is not good.
Carson is lying feet away from me.
Gah. I can’t believe I’m reacting like this. What is wrong with me? I don’t love him anymore. I guess physical attraction is different than love, but it seems highly inappropriate when it’s your ex.
I just have to get through this weekend, go home and sell the house, and I’ll never have to see him again. And I fall asleep with an ache in my chest.
* * *
Somehow, I do manage to sleep, although it’s restless and I wake up several times, disoriented. Then I remember where I am and Carson is right here with me, so close, but not here in bed with me, and the regret and sadness of that is a heaviness inside me, a thickness in my throat.
One time when I awake, I get up and fumble around the dark cottage for my phone to plug it in and also set an alarm. I bump into one of the chairs in the small dining room and it makes a grating noise across the wood floor. I freeze.
Carson lifts his head. “Ayla?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Sorry. I bumped the chair.”
“Everything okay?”
No. No, it really isn’t.“Fine. Go back to sleep. I just wanted my phone.”
His head disappears and I shuffle back to bed.
In the morning, my alarm wakes both of us. Carson must have drawn all the blinds last night, because the cottage is still dim, but I can see the brightness of sunlight around the edges of the windows.
He always wakes up more quickly than me. The alarm goes off, he rolls out of bed, and heads to the shower. Whereas I like to linger a little, enjoying the warmth and comfort of bed, letting my thoughts ramble, maybe even dozing off a bit again. I’ve learned to set two alarms when I really need to be up.
