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‘I did?’ Oh, God, what did I say? Should I ask him outright? Did I scream his mother’s name or, worse, his?
He looks so concerned, his brow furrowed, the wrinkles that have formed over the years only adding to his appeal, and those eyes... God, those eyes... I could lose myself in them a million times over and still come back for more.
‘Let me get you some water...’
He’s rising, but I don’t want water.
I don’t want to trouble him more than I already have.
I also need him out of here. Because this room, the soft light, his concern, the bed—it’s all too intimate. And I don’t trust myself not to act on what’s been virtually a life-long dream...a fantasy. One that could so easily become real in the sleepy confines of this room, at this late hour.
‘It’s okay, Edward,’ I say. ‘I don’t—’
But he’s not listening. He’s already heading to the bathroom. And that’s when I realise he’s wearing nothing but underwear. Tight black briefs that cling to his honed behind, accentuate his trim waist and his muscular thighs with their smattering of dark hair...
The sight steals my voice, my breath...he’s so toned. Like...everywhere.
Heat ripples through my body. My nipples are beading beneath my ancient grey tee. Oh, God. It’s one thing for him to hear me begging for him in my sleep, but to be all pert and alert and blatantly wanton when awake... No, no, no.
I pull the quilt to my chin just as he emerges, a filled glass in one hand, the other raking through his hair. The thick strands are all mussed up and his face is flushed from sleep. The soft light plays over the chiselled angle of his cheekbones, his jaw, the taut muscles of his chest, the dappled hair that darkens as it disappears into his briefs...
Breathe, Summer.
But he’s a vision, a sexual fantasy come to life, and I’m... I’m a hot mess!
‘Here.’ He offers the glass, his eyes probing mine, his mouth twisted into a one-sided smile.
‘Thank you,’ I manage to rasp out as I take it. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’
‘Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re not being murdered in your sleep.’
I wince up at him. ‘Was I that bad?’
‘Put it this way: if it had gone on much longer you would have had the entire household rushing to aid you with any weapon they could find.’
‘Oh, dear...’
I wet my lips and realise they taste of salt. My cheeks are clammy too. Was I crying? I swipe the back of my hand over my face, sweep away the hair that’s stuck there. Definitely crying. Definitely humiliating.
I sip the cool water, hoping it will ease the rising heat inside me. I’d like to say it’s all down to embarrassment, but the fever swirling through my middle is all for him. The throbbing ache too.
I press my thighs together, bring my knees to my chest. I don’t look at him as I say, ‘I’ll be okay now...thank you.’
I bring the glass back to my lips, sip it like a good girl, hoping he’ll get the message.
‘You sure?’
His scent is carried on the air, the warmth of his naked body too, and my eyes are drawn back to him. The crease between his brows deepens as I blink up at him. His eyes are so dark in the low light.
AmI okay? Right now? Hell, no.
I want to jump his bones. Every nerve-ending is urging me to reach up and pull him to me, to feel those lips against my own. They’re so perfect, so full, and his stubble looks tantalisingly rough, his hair wild now it lacks the care he puts into it each morning...
‘Summer?’
I snap my eyes back to his, plaster on a smile. ‘I’m much better than I was, thanks to you.’
He studies me intently for a second longer than is comfortable and I feel my smile slip. What would he say if I asked him to come to bed with me? As two consenting adults, beholden to no one. No divide. No promises. No lies. Just this...
