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'Good book?' He gestured innocently towards the novel in her hands, and she reflected that the towel looked frighteningly slack.
'What? Oh, yes, yes it is,' she agreed quickly.
'Perhaps it'd help if you… ' He made a turning movement with his hands, his voice magnificently expressionless.
She hadn't! She hadn't been holding the thing upside down? She had. She prayed the bed would open and swallow her.
'Oh. I'd just dropped it. When you came in, I'd just dropped it and I must have… ' Her voice trailed away as she realised she was babbling, and she forced herself to take a long, deep breath before she said, 'I'm ready for sleep now, anyway.'
'Me too.'
He dropped the towel with magnificent unconcern, and although Marianne kept her eyes glued frantically on his face she was agonisingly aware of the hair on his chest narrowing to a thin line before it flared out again between his thighs.
'Goodnight, then.' She shot round in the bed and slid down under the covers with her face flaming. He had been aroused. For all his easy talk and coolness, he had been aroused…
'Sweet dreams, Annie,' Hudson murmured huskily.
She smelt the clean, sharp tang of his aftershave as he slid into bed, and then heard him swear softly as the pillows tumbled with his entry under the sheets, but she didn't move to help him put them back into place, merely stretching out a careful hand and clicking off her bedside lamp. She heard him do the same, and then, as the room was plunged into darkness, lay stiff and rigid under the sheets as her blood surged through her veins and her senses screamed.
How in the world had she got herself into this impossible situation anyway? She wanted to cry and shout and scream, to bellow out her frustration and pain and the sheer hopelessness of it all, but she didn't. She lay quietly, each breath an effort of self-control, and stared into the blackness as she forced her pulse to slow. The air pressed down on her, sultry and sticky and thick.
After a few minutes she knew she would melt with the heat if she didn't slip the thick towelling robe off, so she carefully twisted in the bed, hoping Hudson wouldn't realise what she was doing, and pulled the heavy folds away from her body, sliding the robe out under the covers onto the floor.
'Better?' Hudson's voice was very deep and very dry.
She bit on her lips before managing, 'Yes, thank you.'
'Good. Get some sleep, Annie.'
Easier said than done, she thought irritably, gazing crossly into the shadows as dark outlines became faintly visible. No doubt he had slept with a member of the opposite sex more times than he could remember, but this was a first for her, and the circumstances couldn't have been more awful. She felt the hot sting of tears at the back of her eyes and spoke fiercely to herself. None of that, none of that; deep breaths and you'll go to sleep. But she had never felt less like sleep in her life.
Although the bed was vast, and the pile of pillows made a successful barrier, Marianne was vitally aware of every tiny movement Hudson made in the next hour or so as she struggled to fall asleep. She tried to relax, willing her mind to empty and her limbs to loosen up, but it was torture to know the man she loved was inches away and wanting her—if only physically.
She had just decided that she was never going to get to sleep that night, and that she would give it another few minutes and then quietly slip out of bed and find herself a soft drink from the small fridge in the corner of the sitting room, when she awoke in the pale half-light of dawn. She'd gone to sleep! She lay for a moment, wondering what time it was, before carefully raising her arm to glance at her small silver wristwatch.
'It's five o'clock.' Hudson's voice was deep and soft at the side of her, and she froze for an instant, her eyes flicking to the heaped pillows, before she forced herself to speak.
'Is it?' she asked carefully.
'I know because I've watched every hour come and go,' he continued quietly, before raising himself on one elbow and peering over the downy barrier at her, his eyes soft and warm.
'You couldn't sleep?' It was a stupid question in view of what he'd just said, but the sight of him had taken all coherent thought clean away. His hair was ruffled slightly—the harsh hairstyle he favoured wouldn't allow more than slightly—and black stubble gave a sexiness to the square jaw that was dynamite.
'No, Annie, I couldn't sleep,' he said with rueful sarcasm.
'Oh, I'm sorry; you'll be tired later.' As sparkling repartee it failed miserably, but it was the best she could do in the circumstances, with every nerve she possessed in overdrive.
'Possibly.' His eyes moved over her, and she pulled the thin sheet up round her neck as discreetly as she could, a burning glow in the smoky grey eyes reminding her of her scanty attire. 'But I'll survive. On a difficult case I sometimes only catnap for the odd half an hour and work through the night for a week or more. It's amazing how you adjust when you have to.'
'That can't be good for you.' She was genuinely horrified.
He shrugged offhandedly. 'I've only myself to consider so it's not a problem, and I've never needed much sleep anyway.'
'No, but your health is important and—'
'I've always wondered what you look like in the morning when you first wake up, and now I know.'
The dark voice was husky and rich, and Marianne's senses exploded. She'd dreamt of waking up beside him too—many times.
