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Oh. Maybe wiggling was dangerous. She wouldnotwiggle. No wiggling. Not even a little wiggle. She wouldn’t move at all. She’dstay still and try not to feel anything. Or… try to feel everything.Withoutwiggling.
She stared into the darkness, wondering if he was as aware of her as she was of him. Or if he was regretting the invitation. But eventually, his warmth and the steady beat of his heart dragged her under.
She floated, mired in the space between light and dark, thoughts and dreams. A blanket on the sand, a calloused palm brushing across her rib cage. With lips like his, Dante had to know a thing or two about kissing.
He made a low sound deep in his throat, and her eyes flew open.
She was either asleep and having the best dream ever, or he was asleep and—his hips moved, pressing against her, and her cheeks flamed—hewas asleep and having averynice dream. Or… they were both awake, and he wanted to see if she was interested innotsleeping. Which she was, but she hadn’t responded, so he might think she was saying no.
His breath tickled her ear, and she lost track of her thoughts,
Breathe,she reminded herself.
His lips brushed the sensitive spot just below her ear, kindling a fire below her navel. Her thoughts scrambled as his fingers grazed the underside of her breast. This felt so right—nothing hadeverfelt more right—but Dante had made it clear he planned to keep his hands to himself. Which he most certainly wasn’t.
Speak.She opened her mouth, and a whimper slipped out.
Dante wasn’t a liar. Which meant he probably wasn’t awake.
“Dante?” It came out barely more than a breath.
Try harder, Alessa.
She said his name again. Louder.
Dante tensed like she’d dumped a bucket of ice on him, then vanished, vaulting over the back of the couch.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I don’t know what happened. How long—I mean, how many—No, don’t answer that. My fault. Not yours. This is my fault.”
Something crumbled inside her at the horror on his face.
Why had she expected anything else?
“Dante, it’s fine.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “It isnot fine.”
“You were asleep.” She hugged her knees to her chest.
He let out a string of curses. “It doesn’t matter. It’snotokay. I’ll leave right now, and you’ll never see me again.” He began gathering his things, leaving a trail of dropped items behind him.
She clenched her fingers. “It was my fault.”
“It’syourfault I groped you?” He shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t wake you. Not right away.” A mortified heat crept up her neck. She’d melted under his touch, while he’d been dreaming of someone else, and she couldn’t even salvage her pride by denying it, or he’d leave, consumed by guilt.
He bent to retrieve a dropped sock. “You can’t blame yourself for panicking, waking up with someone pawing at you—”
“Dante, I wasn’t asleep!”
He froze so long she thought the silence might shatter.
“I—I thought, maybe you were awake, too.” Alessa hugged her arms to her chest, which felt about to cave in. “I’m sorry. It was wrong.Iwas wrong.”
Dante sighed so deeply his lungs had to be completely empty. “I told you I’d keep my hands to myself.”
“You wereasleep. I wasn’t. Blameme.”
