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Becca knew it wasn’t morning, but there was a touch of light coming through the window. A luminescence that suggested there’d been more snow during the night. The children would love it. She wiggled a bit to see the time on the clock over Morgan’s shoulder.
Four o’clock was too early to contact the hospital. They’d have rung if Edward had relapsed. There hadn’t been a peep from her phone, sitting with its darkened screen on the bedside table alongside Morgan’s.
Morgan stirred, muttering in his sleep but fell silent again as she settled back onto the pillow, conscious of her legs tangled with his. Naked legs. Somewhere during the night she’d fought her way out of the robe. She remembered it vaguely. The soft fabric of Morgan’s t-shirt and boxers brushed against her bare skin. One of his arms stretched under her neck and the other curled over her waist, his large hand resting on the curve at the base of her spine.
It was more than nice. It felt like home.
Her eyes were adjusting to the faint light, allowing her to examine his face, a soft breath away from hers on the pillow. She ached to kiss him; his mouth, soft in sleep; the vulnerable, blue-veined lids of his eyes.
Not going there.
Twice she’d initiated lovemaking and twice she’d been left a fool. Understanding why he’d pulled away last time didn’t give her the courage to try again.
His arm tightened, pulled her firm against his body, her pelvis locking against his as her legs tightened automatically.
‘Nice.’ His muttered approval came out slurred.
There was a certain hardness about him that sent her hormones clamouring. This could be simply the normal male tendency for morning erections. It probably didn’t mean anything, considering his explanations of the night before. Achieving arousal was one thing. Maintaining it was the challenge.
Her own arousal was another thing entirely. The roughness of the hair on his legs chafed against the tender flesh of her inner thighs and her nipples brushed the soft fabric of his shirt, forming hard peaks. If he woke up fully, he couldn’t fail to notice.
‘Becca?’
It was clearer now, the deep tones offering more than a query of who shared his bed.
‘Hmmm?’
‘How did you sleep?’
‘Best ever.’
He rubbed a cool cheek against hers. ‘Me too. I could get used to this.’
There was a question in the quiet words and she snuggled closer. ‘I wouldn’t object.’
‘Do you mean it?’ He lay still under her touch, as if he held his breath, waiting.
‘Do you want me to?’
‘Absolutely.’ His fingers dug into her hips and she flinched. ‘Sorry.’
His warm hand soothed the bruised flesh, lighting small flames under the skin. They radiated out in ever increasing circles that stung and burned the closer his hand came to the base of her spine, gliding lower to where her thighs parted.
A gasp escaped as he delved deep and a shudder swept through her.
‘Becca? Let me love you.’
She could barely formulate the words of assent. ‘Yes.’ He released her immediately, rolling away to switch on the lamp and climb out of bed, picking up his phone. He scrolled through the messages and with a satisfied nod, put it back on the bedside table.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No.’ He grinned at her. ‘Nothing at all.’
She watched him peel off his t-shirt and then hesitate at the waistband of his boxers. In the dim light of the lamp, she recognised the struggle and waited for him to decide if he could trust her. When he dropped his briefs, she had to swallow the lump in her throat, forcing herself to focus on him. His body was beautiful, still thin after his illness but perfectly proportioned. Partially aroused, but she wasn’t going to focus on what might be happening.
‘How did you get so built?’
The colour dipped and swayed over his throat. ‘I did a lot of exercise as part of my regime to get fit. Once I was stable I could be weaned off the medication. My doctor suggested it and it helped. I’ve kept it going over the years for a whole range of reasons.’
