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With that, we both fell into silence.
And, oddly comforted by his presence, and lulled a bit by his body heat, I found I drifted off much faster than before.
Only to wake up untold hours later with my head on his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat under my ear, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breath.
And my hand, always cold to the point of frigid, was super warm because…
Oh, God.
Because I’d placed it between his freaking thighs.
High up, too. Not safely right above his knees or something like that.
Nope.
I had it wedged way up there. Not quite grazing any of his business, but really, really close.
Okay.
It was alright.
He wasn’t moving, though he had draped an arm around me in his sleep.
Which meant nothing, I had to remind myself.
He probably slept with women all the time, was used to pulling them close at night.
It was just a knee-jerk reaction.
But he was still.
So he was probably still asleep.
If I could just… very carefully extract my hand, then move away inch by inch, he would never know what had happened.
Mind made up, I started the process. Just the barest movements of my hand.
That was all it took.
Because I had it wrong.
Sway was up.
And he was just waiting for me to wake.
“Warm enough now?” he asked. “It was like ice,” he told me. “That’d been a hell of a wake-up call,” he added, tone light, unbothered. Meanwhile, I felt like my face was on fire. I don’t think I was someone who blushed, but, holy hell, did it feel like I was doing so right then.
The jig was up, so I snatched my hand away quickly, careful not to let my hand brush his whole situation down there. But when I tried to roll away, his arm tightened around me, keeping me where I was.
Close.
Way, way too close.
Especially given the way that desire had already started to thrum through me.
“I, ah, usually wedge a hand under one of the dogs,” I said, only telling the partial truth. I mean, it had happened in the past, but it wasn’t exactly a regular thing.
“Are your feet as cold as your hands?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, though, shifting to touch my foot with his.
It was a nothing contact. He was literally checking me for my temperature. But it felt surprisingly intimate as his skin met mine.
“How the hell did you stay warm enough in that cabin?” he asked when he found my feet like icicles too.
Poor circulation, it was a family thing. Or so my father had claimed. He was forever wearing wool socks and rubbing his hands together to chafe some warmth into them.
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “I was always freezing. I slept in gloves and hats sometimes,” I added. “The dogs helped when they wanted to share the bed, though.”
“Multi-purpose dogs,” he said. “Guess they better be for what you paid for them. So… do you want to jump in the shower to warm up while I go grab breakfast?” he asked, still with his arm around me. Now, though, his fingers were moving absentmindedly down my arm.
Like the whole holding me thing, I was sure it meant nothing to him. But my poor body was overwhelmed with sensations right then.
“Yeah,” I agreed, again trying to pull away, but being held in place. “I thought that meant you were going to let me up,” I said, even though my body was begging me to keep my mouth shut, to enjoy the feel of him, to get more of him. To climb on top of him, feel him slide inside of me, and put an end to the clawing need in my core.
“Eventually,” he agreed. “Okay, now,” he said, and I didn’t understand the tone in his voice until he was suddenly rolling to his side, rolling me onto my back, and coming over me.
He was probably trying to be silly, to roll over me on his way out of bed.
The problem was that as soon as he was on top of me, our gazes met. My legs widened to accommodate him, my arm went up to touch his hip.
And I could feel the hardness pressing against my stomach, making another stab of desire pierce me, something that had my hips bucking up into him.
There was one long moment, bodies still, chaos coursing through both of us, before he suddenly snapped out of it, rolling off of me, and getting off the bed.
The motion had Miranda and Samantha yawning and stretching, looking over at us.
“I’ll walk them too,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment.
I looked over at the girls, and I swear I could hear their thoughts.
We really like him, Mom.
Or maybe that was my own stupid wishful thinking.
On a sigh, I got up, going to dig through my bag for an outfit, then ducking into the bathroom as soon as he made his way out with his shirt back on again.
