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But, for tonight, what he needed most of all was the sleep he’d been denied.
‘Dim lights,’ he murmured, burying his face in the citrus-scented puff of hair peeping out of the throw. ‘Stop,’ he added, leaving a slight glow to prevent plunging the room into total darkness. Just in case.
Letting his hand drift over her curves, he anchored her safely to him, then dropped into a deep dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
CASSIE’S EYELIDS FLUTTERED open the next morning. Her body was rested, her stomach grumbling loudly, but when she moved she felt the tug of yearning, and a slight discomfort between her thighs.
Cocooned in a blanket, it took her a moment to register the blaze of mid-morning sunlight coming through the signature windows she recalled from three—no, four mornings ago, opposite the bed.
The scent of sea salt, wood resin and pine soap had her letting out a cautious breath.
She was back in Luke Broussard’s bed—which had to be why she’d slept so peacefully.
She rolled over, scared to look. But the bed beside her was empty, the room quiet except for the accelerated sound of her own breathing. She stifled the foolish sting of disappointment.
The events of last night came tumbling back in fits and starts—the stark shock of Luke’s presence in the kitchen, the crippling fear brought on by the power cut, the humiliation of how she’d clung to him in the darkness and then... His mocking smile, her bold challenge... The panic when she’d nearly revealed the truth about her virginity... And then the sex—raw, desperate, frantic, mind-blowing...
But that was all she remembered.
How had she ended up in Luke’s room?
She wriggled off the bed, keeping the blanket wrapped around her naked body, and shuffled towards the bedroom door, surprised at how rested she felt. More energised and clear-eyed than she could remember feeling since she’d landed in San Francisco and this whole disaster had begun.
She crossed the spacious room, her bare toes sinking into the thick pile carpet. But then she spotted a thick white sock, neatly folded on the dresser. Shrugging off the blanket, she reached out to stroke the wool.
It was one of the pair she’d been wearing yesterday. Had Luke taken it off her after carrying her upstairs?
A strange choking feeling constricted her throat. She swallowed convulsively and lifted her hand, bundling herself securely back in the blanket.
It’s just a sock.
At least they hadn’t made love after he’d brought her up here, because that would be even more humiliating. She was pretty sure she’d jumped him downstairs. Although he certainly hadn’t objected.
But why had he brought her to his room instead of hers?
She shook off the unhelpful question and opened the bedroom door to peek out. Whatever the reason, she did not want him to catch her in here now.
The buttery, syrupy smell coming from downstairs had the rumbling in her empty stomach turning to insistent growls.
Pancakes? Is he trying to torture me?
Tiptoeing to her own room, she headed straight into the en suite bathroom, dropped the blanket and darted into the shower.
She scrubbed the scent of him off her skin. She needed to get past the memories of last night, erase them from her consciousness before she confronted him and tried to make some sense of what she’d done... What they’d done... Again...
And figure out how on earth she was supposed to deal with it.
* * *
Ten minutes later, she made her way down the open staircase. The buttery aroma was almost as tantalising as the sight of Luke in baggy sweats and an old MIT T-shirt, busy flipping pancakes like a pro.
His head rose and his gaze locked on hers. ‘Hey,’ he said, his voice as raw as she suddenly felt.
She wrapped her arms around her midriff, thankful for his housekeeper’s jeans and baggy sweater. She pressed a hand to her damp hair in a foolish moment of vanity, then dropped it.
‘Hi,’ she managed round the thickness in her throat.
