Page 47
She flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“You want the curtains open or closed? What’ll help?”
“Open please.”
Marching to the windows, he pulled them open. Not that it brought any light into the room.
His headache was killing him. If he didn’t get his allotted hours of sleep, he wouldn’t be able to function tomorrow. He’d never been a party animal, but he’d stay up until the crack of dawn working on a lecture or a textbook or a talk in his old life. Not anymore.
“Sleep is healing,” his doctor sister-in-law, Joy, often told him. “Don’t fight it. Listen to your body.”
It’d been three years. He was tired of listening. He wanted his former strength and energy and concentration back. After the accident, even reading for a half hour gave him headaches. Though that had improved lately—exponentially in the last few months.
“Don’t suppose you’d like to get under the covers and try to sleep a bit?”
Eyeing the bed as though it were a snake nest as opposed to a very comfortable king-sized four-poster, she responded in an unnaturally high pitch. “Uh… sure.”
“You don’t have to. Stay by the fire, if you want. But I need some shut-eye.”
She rose to her feet. “No. We both could use some sleep. And this storm doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. Which side is yours?”
No way in hell was he going to sleep next to her where his ugly side was on full display. He pointed to the right one.
Something in her expression indicated she didn’t believe him. “Is it really?”
He cursed. “Left. I prefer the left.”
“Then why…? Oh.”
Shit. Somehow, she understood.
“Well, I prefer the right. Isn’t that lucky.”
The firelight illuminated her gossamer-thin pajamas—frilly shorts and a translucent top falling off one shoulder—rendering her practically naked.
He looked away as she approached the bed and slipped under the covers. Only when she’d pulled the sheet and duvet up to her chin did he join her, settling on top of the blankets.
“Aren’t you going to be cold?”
“Not with the fire going.” Not with you here.
He already felt feverish, skin hot and zinging with anticipation. If she glanced down, she’d notice just how boiling she made him. Thankfully, she kept her gaze glued to his ugly face.
Another clap of thunder made her jump.
“You really hate storms, huh?”
“Only thunderstorms. Seattle doesn’t get many.”
He could hear her teeth chattering clear across the bed. “Come here,” he grumbled, pulling her into his side with one swift motion, “or I’ll never get any sleep.”
Her arm went around him readily, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Tension left her inch by inch until she finally relaxed against him. “I’m not normally a scaredy-cat like this. I just really hate thunderstorms, and the dark, and the combination of it earlier threw me for a loop.”
He smoothed his palm along her cotton-covered back before tugging the duvet back around her. “Warm now?”
“I will be in a bit. Thanks for humoring me.”
“We all have our phobias. You already know mine.”
