Startled by his statement, she tried to get her bearings. “I thought we agreed I would.” She shook her head, her gaze going from his dark hair to his booted feet, noticing, not for the first time, how tall he was. “You’re much too tall for that small divan.”
“A gentleman always gives up his bed for a lady, but perhaps, we can come to some kind of compromise.”
A little intrigued, she focused on his eyes again. “A compromise?”
“There are several things we can do. For instance, I can sleep on top of the blankets while you sleep under them.”
Did she want that? She’d never shared a bed before, though she had shared a room when she was a student. What would it be like to do so? To feel his warmth while she slept, to smell his unique scent of soap and cloves, to listen to the sound of his breathing. Did he snore? Toss and turn all night? Mumble in his sleep? It didn’t matter if he did all those things. The idea, though rather unorthodox and wholly inappropriate, appealed to her whether she wanted to admit it or not.
She gave a slight nod, but didn’t speak, anticipation and expectation flowing through her veins, then walked to thebureau, slid open the top drawer and pulled out the warmest, thickest nightgown she owned. She held it up to her chest. “Are you going to stand there and watch me change?”
He shook his head, but that wasn’t what was in his expression. “No, ma’am. I’ll be back.” But he didn’t move, didn’t leave, as if he couldn’t. Or didn’t want to.
After a moment, he finally did, closing the door softly behind him.
Sheridan undressed quickly, put on her night gown, and slid beneath the blankets. The lamps were still burning, their flickering flames casting shadows on the wall. The clock kept time with her heartbeat as she waited for him to come back. It didn’t take long before he knocked on the bedroom door.
“Sherry?”
“You can come in now.”
The door opened slowly as he entered the room, still fully dressed. He came to stand at the footboard of the bed, his gaze roaming over her. There was something in his eyes, a longing she had seen before. Did he expect something?
And then he grabbed a blanket, wandered over to the divan and sat to remove his boots, the chunky heels making a noise as they hit the floor. He rose again, sleek as a cat, and blew out the lamps. Moonlight, coming in from the crack between the drawn drapes, shimmered over him as he shook open the folded blanket and settled himself on the divan. His hands were behind his head, his feet dangling over the edge of the settee’s arm. He couldn’t be comfortable. Not in the least.
Her gaze swept over him and disappointment mixed with relief flashed through her. What had made him change his mind?
She sat up in bed. “Wyatt, please don’t sleep there. Come to bed.”
“If you’re sure,” he said, but his voice seemed tense, as if he, himself, wasn’t sure.
“Yes.”
He rose from the divan, took a few steps toward the bed and just stood there once again, as if undecided. Then, without a word, he lowered himself to the mattress, on top of the quilt, and stretched out, maneuvering the blanket so it covered him.
Sheridan sank down into the mattress, pulled the quilt closer to her shoulders and turned toward him. She couldn’t see his expression, as only moonlight illuminated part of the room, but she did notice he held himself stiffly, his muscles rigid, like he was afraid he would touch her. After a few moments, he seemed to relax, just a little, and once again, put his hands beneath his head on the pillow.
“Wyatt?”
“What?”
“Are you upset with me?”
“Why would I be upset with you? You did nothing wrong.” He let out his breath. “Just go to sleep, Sherry.”
She smiled, just a little. His voice seemed even more tense than before. Was he feeling what she was feeling? Did he get that funny little tickle in his belly, too? Did he want to kiss her again?
She wouldn’t mind.
She rather liked the way his mouth pressed against hers, and the way it made her feel, as frightening and exciting as it was. She knew what the girls at Josie’s would say about this situation. She’d heard them talk about the joining of a man and a woman and the pleasure to be found in such a coupling.
Didn’t he want to? Wasn’t she desirable enough? And why was she even thinking about this? Wyatt MacLean was doing her a great favor. She shouldn’t be thinking about more.
Oh, but she was.
She let out a sigh, her body taut with feelings she didn’t quite understand then made a conscious effort to will away those emotions. “Good night, Wyatt.”
“Are you ready?” Wyatt studied her as she stood beside him in front of the Serenity Hotel the next afternoon, waiting for the stagecoach with her aunt and grandmother to arrive. She was nervous, chewing on her bottom lip, and he couldn’t blame her. He was a little nervous, too.
