Page 39 of Ready For His Rule

Tracy took advantage of the extra space, shoving off the wall then wheeling back toward the bed. On her way, she grabbed the tank and jabbed her way back into it. “I’m going back to sleep.”

Liar. Like she and sleep were going to be anything but sworn enemies tonight. Her blood was roaring. Her nerve endings felt like lit sparklers. And oh yeah, there was the not-so-tiny issue of her burning, throbbing sex, especially with her vibrator in the same pile of ash as her flattening iron—and that man likely returning to dragon mode on the couch. Could she dare hope he’d change into cutaway tails, drag her to an underground lair on a boat then sing sweet music of the night while she fell into romantic slumber? No? She’d have to put up with being pissed and sleepless—

And now, listening to him hiss rapid-fire Hawaiian beneath his breath. At least she had a good excuse to ignore him.

“Tracy. Dammit.”

So much for the ignoring thing.

“I think we should leave it there, Captain.”

She might have underlined the last word with a little more rebellion. She might have hoped he really noticed.

More of his whispered island profanity came back, before a gritted, “You understand, that in any other time and place—”

“Sure.”

Lip service. She didn’t understand—and she wanted to wallow in that ire. It was the middle of the night, after one hell of a day—which had included the indisputable, inaugural spark of their intense mutual attraction. And technically, to the rest of the world, she didn’t even exist. So what exactly was he asking her to understand?

For a second, just one, she listened as he shifted a step back toward her. One single sound, filled with so much conflict…causing her hands to freeze around the pillow she was plumping. Would he finally get it? Be brave enough to?

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. Sleep’s probably the best thing for you right now.”

Then there was Box Two. The jerk wad exit.

Back to the basement.

The darkness she let him escape to, no matter how mad it made her—or how scary it was to think of the hours ahead without him right next to her.

Stupid lamenting.

Ridiculous moping.

She was thirty-five, not five. She helped shape the character of a nation. More defining than that, she was the mother of a teenager. She could handle one enigmatic ass, even if it meant lying here and pretending to sleep for the next five or six hours.

Powered by that fortification, at least for the moment, she flashed a look over her shoulder inspired by all the blithe, bold, rejected-by-morons heroines who had ever been in this position before her. “Right, then. Good night.”

Yes. Perfect.

It was all over but the middle finger—from which she forced herself to refrain, because she couldn’t skip completely off the vice-presidential reservation—but gave room for a preening smile to wield at the captain as she settled against the pillows.

And wield she did.

No matter how thoroughly Franzen’s counterstrike of a stare blew through her. Penetrated her as if time had folded on itself and this was suddenly the first moment they’d ever locked gazes—and exchanged their energy. That energy. The silent, potent connection she’d never experienced before with someone…the link of awareness she knew he felt too, no matter what kind of crap lines he fed her about the other aspects of their attraction. This part of it was real. This visceral bond would never go away.

He knew it too. She saw him accept it, though he sure as hell wasn’t happy about it, as his brows tightened into new slashes, matched by the parallel line formed by his lips.

Before he pivoted to make his way back to the couch.

But then stopped—

And bounded two steps her direction.

Before he stopped once more.

Retreated yet again.

Back to his damn dragon’s cave. His emotional basement—into which she was not invited. Nor would beg to be asked back again.

It was time to let him go back through that door—then to shut it soundly behind him. And yeah, to let a little hope go along with him too. The man had brought something back to her world that she’d honestly given up on knowing again. The feeling of being the center of a man’s interest…and desire. Just simply, wholly, appreciated as a female…

It had been good. Really good. And giddy. And freeing.

For that gift, she would be forever grateful to Keoni John Franzen.

For that reason, she owed him a decent attempt to be her best in the morning. Which meant taking a stab at some sleep.

Or faking it super well.

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