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He glances at me like I’m crazy. “It’s nearly ninety degrees out and I think the AC is broken because it is hotter than hell. I don’t know how you’re surviving under there.”
He’s right. I’m burning up, but it’s safer in here.
"I’m fine,” I say and he rolls his eyes.
"Please.” He walks over to the other side of the bed, completely tossing off the pillow fort I’ve made. He tugs off the blanket too, no matter how hard I fight for it. “I’m not going to attack you. Not when you’re wearing your best grandma chic.”
I glance down at my pajamas. “These are good.”
“Yeah. And they’re buttoned up to the top as well.” He tosses the blanket on the floor, then climbs into bed. He winks at me as he arranges himself in bed, tucking one hand behind his head. “Relax. I’m not going to touch you. I don’t attack unwilling women.”
I feel a little bad now. “I never thought you did." But then, if he touched me, I wouldn’t be unwilling and that’s the problem.
He glances at me, with something unfathomable in his eyes and then he looks away. “I set the alarm for six AM. The road should be opened up by then and we’ll be back on our way.”
And then his eyes slide shut, and he takes a deep breath as though readying himself for sleep.
After a few minutes of silence, I assume that he’s succeeded.
Meanwhile, I can’t sleep. No matter how much I try, I can’t remove my mind from the fact that Maddox Reign is in bed with me.
And I keep remembering that night all those years ago. How he saw me at the bar and gestured me to come over. And I went. It was the most daring thing I’d done in a long time but I didn’t let common sense stop me. I was flattered that a man like that would even notice me. I was a small country girl out in the big city and, as my friends explain, ‘An Iowa seven, which is basically an LA three’. And out of all the gorgeous girls in the bar, he chose me.
And fucked me six ways to Sunday.
And left me with heartache in the morning. That’s the part I should be remembering, not the rest of it.
Instead, I toss in bed until I turn to face him again. I analyze his face, wondering why I’m so obsessed with this guy. He’s not traditionally handsome, his features too discordant to be called classically handsome. He’s annoying and arrogant and loves to get on my last nerve.
But he also has his moments where he’s sweet. And I don’t know what to do about those moments because that’s what keeps me coming back.
And then suddenly, his eyes open and snag mine.
My chest tightens.
“I thought you were asleep,” I say, and it’s a whisper that sounds loud in the dark.
“Can’t,” he answers in the same tone of voice. “You’re thinking too loud.”
“I’m not thinking,” I retort instinctively before thinking about it. He smirks.
“Me neither.” And I know I don’t imagine his face moving closer. The warning bells start going off.
Eight hours, I tell myself. Eight hours.
Stop him.
He stops when his face is a few breaths from mine, his eyes still staring into mine.
“Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” His voice has dropped a few octaves at this point.
I shake my head, even with my pulse thundering in my throat. My nipples pucker obediently underneath my shirt just by his voice alone.
“I’m thinking about how beautiful your eyes look in the moonlight,” he continues anyway. “How your hair looks against the pillow. I’m especially thinking about the fact that no matter how hard you try to cover up that gorgeous body in grandma’s clothes, I can still see it in my mind. I see you no matter what. And for the first time, I’m thinking frills just might be the sexiest thing a woman can wear.”
“Stop.” I choke it out because I can barely breathe with all the sexual tension suffocating the atmosphere. His words are making it so much worse. I’m starting to forget all the reasons we can’t do this, my body urging me to give in.
Please, it's been so long.It screams.Just a little. Just once can’t hurt.
