“All right,” she conceded breathlessly after a moment. “I’ll come.”
“Yes, you will,” he growled quietly, kissing the corner of her mouth, his tone leaving no doubt about how he expected her to come. Excitement rushed her at the thought, but she forced herself to ease back from his embrace slightly.
“To look at the Durand reports, like you asked,” she clarified.
She felt him stiffen. Was it her imagination, or did the chirping birds and crickets in the surrounding forest all go quiet? Dylan was one of those rare men whose moods could potentially alter the atmosphere, at least in her opinion. She waited anxiously.
“Fine,” he said after a moment. “If that’s what you’d like.”
“That’s what I’d like,” she lied.
She heard his muted, derisive snort.
He took her hand, and once again she was following his sure tread in the pitch dark.
ELEVEN
Dylan moved on the bed, straightening a long leg and inadvertently pulling down the white sheet to his waist as he did so. The sound of soft sheets hissing against naked skin fractured Alice’s already fragile attention. She leaned forward in the chair and cast a cautious glance in his direction, using the winged back to shield her curiosity. He was turned away from her, fast asleep. Once they’d reached the castle, she’d insisted on setting herself up to examine the reports in the sitting area versus in bed.
On the dark, tense trip up to the castle, she’d considered insisting that Dylan let her study the reports in an empty office or den somewhere. By the time they’d entered the dark mansion, however, she’d changed her mind. The brooding house drew her in many ways, but there was another side to her fascination with it—a darker side. She hated admitting it to herself, but Dylan’s big house scared her. At night, it stood watchful and somehow secretive, perched atop the bluff above the camp and draped in shadow. When she’d entered earlier, hand in hand with Dylan, a hushed sense of expectancy seemed to cloak the hallways and far-off darkened rooms. The heavy pressing sensation tightened Alice’s chest and
made her jumpy.
Only Dylan’s presence scattered the inchoate shadows. She didn’t want to be alone in some far-off study while Dylan lay in his bed.
With the exception of Dylan’s movement just now, every time she’d warily glanced around the wing of the luxurious chair before, he had been utterly still. It miffed her a little, that he’d fallen asleep so easily, given her restlessness. She scowled as she set down the computer he’d given her to use on the coffee table. She input some numbers from the report into a calculator and jotted down some notes.
The sheet and comforter had pooled around his waist. His back was beautiful, smooth skin gloving defined powerful muscles. She kept tracing the sexy slant from wide chest and back down to a narrow waist. Despite his bangs being longish, the hair at his nape was cut in a sharp line. Concise. She experienced an overwhelming urge to press her nose to that spot, to slick her tongue along his hairline while she inhaled his male scent and mussed the longer hair on top with her greedy fingers.
Arousal prickled her clit. Her nipples chafed against the cups of her bra. She distractedly pressed her fingertips to her warm cheeks and then her lips, scraping the overly sensitive skin with her fingernail. Pleasure rippled through her. She shifted uneasily in the chair, pressing down on the cushion with her hips to get friction on the growing ache at her core.
Time dragged by tortuously slow. For short periods she focused on her task, but she was far less efficient than usual. The ache between her thighs mounted until it was impossible to ignore. Increasingly desperate, she dropped her pen on the seat cushion and moved her hand on her thigh, sliding it upward toward her sex.
Realizing belatedly what she was doing, she straightened the quarterly report in her lap, rattling the pages and lassoing her fraying attention.
It didn’t work.
Earlier, Dylan had walked out of the bathroom wearing only a pair of dark blue cotton pajama bottoms. His image was burned in her mind’s eye. Alice had tried to look away from the intimidatingly awesome sight of him, but had failed. He’d stalked around the foot of the bed, his dark gaze trained on her.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” he’d asked her, nodding significantly at the glass of Diet Dr Pepper and a package of opened Jingdots sitting on the table next to her along with the pile of Durand reports, a notebook, and a calculator. Alice had been thrilled to see a large glass jar filled with the addictive candies sitting on the countertop in the massive kitchen.
She’d yanked her gaze off the compelling vision of his ridged, taut abdomen and defined oblique muscles disappearing beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms. She’d shaken her head.
“No. I have everything I need right here.”
What a fucking liar you’re becoming.
He’d paused by the corner bedpost. She looked down at the report in her lap fixedly.
“Stubbornness can be a good thing, Alice. But it’s not always a virtue.”
Her pulse had leapt at her throat, his low gravelly growl tickling her ear. She’d kept her gaze on the report, exhibiting said questionable virtue in spades. He’d climbed into bed without another word, shutting off the bedside lamp and lying down with his back turned toward her.
She’d squinted at the page determinedly, but it was no good.
If she really wanted to get anything done, what she needed was for Dylan Fall to be miles away. Having him in bed just feet away wearing nothing but a thin pair of cotton pajama bottoms that left little to the imagination—well, that was doing nothing for her usual concise ability to focus on the numbers.
To think rationally in general.