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Iwoke up out of breath as if I’d been running for hours. My heart raced, and I was out of the bed as fast as I could manage to untangle myself from the sheet. My hair still hung in wet, dark red strands from the shower I took before bed, so I knew I hadn’t been out long. I stumbled around Michael’s guest room for a confused minute before I remembered where I was.
Not in Russia. Not in the hospital with Michael, or on an airplane. I’m in Idaho. At Michael’s house.
The door was flung open, revealing a shirtless Michael in long, gray pajama pants. White streaked across his shoulder—bandages—but otherwise, his tanned chest loomed above me.So much skin. “Bridget?” he said.
I held out my hand in front of me like it could ward him off. “I’m fine.”
“I heard you scream.” My outstretched hand seemed very uninteresting to him because he walked through it to catch me in his arms. “What’s the matter?”
I forced myself to swallow, but it filled my nostrils with the sleepy warm scent of him, all male and musky. “Bad dream. That’s all. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You didn’t. I was still up in the living room, checking the windows. I’m a little overprotective when it comes to security.” He drew me closer into a hug against his uninjured side. He smelled like soap, so warm and fresh. I loved how it felt in his arms—not that I got many opportunities to hug Michael in my life. Most of the time, he went out of his way not to touch me at all.
But sometimes I got a good whiff when he walked by.
Or if he sat close to me, which he had been doing a lot the last few years.
I put my head on his shoulder, enjoying the way his skin felt against my face. “You’re injured. You don’t need a crazy redhead to make all of this worse.”
“Actually, I think that’s exactly what I need. What were you dreaming about, Bridge?”
I took a deep breath. “Truthfully, I have no idea. I woke myself up scared and unsure of where I was. Sorry. I’m okay now.”
He squeezed me tighter. “Come with me?”
Where were we going? I let him lead me from the room, back through the living room, and then down the hallway that led to his bedroom. His office door hung open, and I could see screens flickering with motion from the darkened room. I spotted a small gym through another doorway we passed by on the way to his bedroom. “Get in,” he said simply, gesturing toward his bed.
“To yourbed?” He couldn’t possibly think we should sleep together, not with only one working arm? “I don’t think I’m really up for it, truthfully.”
Besides, I hated sex, not that I intended to admit that to Michael at the moment. Or ever.
Never would work for me.
He ran a hand through his dark hair as he stared at me with those lovely, steady eyes of his. “I’m not talking about sex. I wishI was, and I admit I’m intrigued by you admitting there might be a possibility sometime, but no. No, just to sleep tonight. Let’s go to bed together. You’re clearly not okay, and truthfully, insomnia is trying to weasel its way into my night. Let’s watch some television, and if we fall asleep, we can share the night. It’ll help to have company, at least.”
Okay. I could buy that. Hope used to swear she slept better with Max in the bed than without him, and it was one of the things she couldn’t let go of when they were separated. I never slept with anyone besides my sisters.
“I snore. I mean…we all do, all three of us. They used to deny it, but why bother? Anyway, you might want to change your mind.” Doctors didn’t find anything wrong with me when I tried to do a sleep study to resolve the snoring, so it wasn’t like it was something I could change about myself.
He motioned to the left side of the bed. “It isn’t so much that you snore as you have a very distinctive way of breathing when you sleep. It’s actually rhythmic and not bothersome in the least.”
When had Michael heard me sleep? “How have you heard that?”
It seemed easier to ask that than to admit I’d never heard it described like that before. It was sort of sweet, and I smiled, bemused despite myself. I crawled into the left side of the bed, reveling in the expensive sheets and luxurious bedding. His guest room might be nice, but he clearly didn’t spare any expense on the comfort in his own room. Not that I was complaining, as I snuggled my face into one of the cloud-like pillows.
“Twice, actually. The first time was in the hospital. Second time was on the plane coming here.” He slipped into the sheets next to me, and his warmth immediately beckoned me. “I mightsnore, too. I think sometimes I do. I can get you earbuds, if it bugs you.”
“Maybe you’ll need them, for when you get sick of listening to my breathing.”
He turned off the light next to his bed. “I hate sleeping on my back. The one problem with being shot is I always end up having to sleep on my back. I’ll see the doctor tomorrow, start the PT, then in a week, I’ll be able to sleep on my side again. I just have to keep telling myself that.”
“How do you usually sleep?” It was the oddest conversation I’d ever shared with him, the darkness and our closeness in the bed adding a layer of intimacy I didn’t mind in the least.
“Flat on my stomach.” He sighed. “I also tend to sprawl. I’m not used to sharing, although that is something I’d be willing to work on, under the right circumstances. I’m not always willing to change, but I’d be willing to try.”
He was talking about me, I realized, and heat again flooded my cheeks. He’d be willing to try to share a bedwith mewithout taking up most of the space. Okay, even if he didn’t mean it that way, imagining him thinking of me in his bed made me smile. “Do you sleep hard? Like it’s tough to wake you? Or are you a light sleeper.” I leaned on my elbow to stare at him in the darkness, and his silhouette shifted, suggesting he looked back at me.
“Yes and no? If I’m on duty, I don’t. I barely doze, but when I’m not on duty, I do tend to crash hard. It’s tough to wake me when I’m deeply asleep, but that’s when I have my bad dreams, so I can particularly appreciate yours.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”
