arm tucked under her pil ow, her knees drawn almost to her chest. The light creeping under the bathroom door outlined the angle of her shoulder, the curve of her hip. He studied her face. Dark, winged brows, long black lashes. Her mouth like a lily at night, cool, pale, closed. He imagined warming it with his, pictured her lips flushed and open, swol en and damp from his kisses. Recal ed the mind-blowing softness of her breast in his hand, the delicate point of her nipple.
Her taste.
She shifted and sighed.
He shifted, too, reaching down to adjust himself in the dark, remembering the way she’d gasped and arched when he suckled her.
Her clear gray eyes opened, staring directly at him.
“Am I keeping you up?”
Busted.
He raised his knee so she couldn’t see his erection standing like a mast against the sheets. Not that she meant her question the way it sounded. “I’m good. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
Did she have nightmares? Probably. The thought made his back teeth grind together. He unclenched his jaw, made his voice as gentle as possible. “You’ve had a stressful day.”
“It’s not that.” She flipped onto her back, making the mattress squeak. Her breasts moved in interesting ways under the T-shirt. “My hair’s wet.”
He forced his gaze back to her face. He didn’t know what to say. The Heart of Jersey wasn’t the kind of hotel that stocked hairdryers in the guest rooms.
“And now my pil ow’s wet, too.”
The complaining edge to her voice made him grin. He didn’t dare hope she was as frustrated as he was, but at least she wasn’t lying there shattered, reliving her past.
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“You have two pil ows,” he pointed out.
She flounced back onto her side and fixed him with those big gray eyes. Hopeful. Expectant.
Frustration and desire churned inside him. What did she want from him? Whatever it was, he would find a way to give it to her. But he needed a freaking clue. “You want one of mine?”
She was silent so long he wondered if maybe she’d fal en asleep after al . Then, “Al right.”
He sat up, reaching behind his back for a pil ow.
But he never had a chance.
Before he could toss it to her, she climbed out of bed, al smooth bare legs and bra-less breasts, and plucked the pil ow from his hands.
“Thanks,” she said and slid into bed beside him.
12
Ev e ry m u s c l e i n I e s t y n ’ s b o d y t i g h t en e d .
“What are you doing?”
Dickhead. Like it wasn’t obvious.
Lara propped the pil ow behind her and settled against the headboard, the bounce of her breasts momentarily robbing him of breath. “I thought if I slept with you, we could both get some rest.”
The T-shirt was damp where he’d had his mouth on her.
He forced his gaze up to meet her eyes.
“You want to sleep with me,” he said. Like he needed her to draw him a diagram when his brain was already playing the movie in glorious 3D color and surround sound.
“Mm.” She tilted her head, gauging his reaction. Despite her casual tone, the pulse beneath her jaw beat like a caged bird. “That’s a euphemism.”
“It’s a mistake,” he said harshly.
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She blinked. “Why?”
“Because . . .” His mind blanked as his blood abandoned his head and went south. “I can’t give you what you need.”
She glanced at his lap, stil covered by the sheet. Raised her eyebrows. “Apparently you can.”
He strangled a laugh. “I mean . . . I can’t be who you need.”
Her bril iant gray eyes softened. “What if you’re what I want?”
His mouth dried. His pulse pounded.
“Damn it, I’m trying to do the right thing here,” he said.
“The right thing for you? Or for me?”
“For you. I’m probably screwing up—hel , I know I’m screwing up—but cut me some slack. I haven’t had a lot of practice thinking about other people.”
Her lips curved, but she didn’t look happy. “You know, I’m getting pretty tired of other people deciding what’s best for me.”
He sucked in his breath. That’s what she was running away from. Asshole Axton and his angel horde. He didn’t want to be like them, didn’t want control of her life or her choices.
He didn’t want the responsibility. But . . .
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
This time her smile reached her beautiful eyes. “I think you underestimate yourself.”
She reached out, her fingertips tracing the shape of his lips, the sensitive skin at the corner of his eyes. The tenderness of her touch clogged his throat.
“So, do you want to . . . sleep with me?” she asked.
“Real y sleep.”
The hesitation in her voice nearly did him in. Hel , yes, he wanted to sleep with her. He wanted to peel her out of that 14 6
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
T-shirt and get his hands on what was under it. He wanted her on him and him inside her for whatever was left of the night. For however long they were together.
He looked into her eyes, shining with trust, and knew he couldn’t do it. She might say sex wasn’t that big a deal, but women often said that. In his experience, most of them felt differently in the morning.
He wasn’t taking advantage of her. He owed her too much, liked her too much, for that.
“Sleep would be good,” he said.
