Maverick’s big, warm hand gripped the back of her neck and massaged her sore muscles. She groaned and buried her face in her knees.
“Too much?” he asked, his voice gravelly.
“It’s perfect,” she said. And it was. Warm, firm, strong, his touch felt so damn good it was all she could do to keep from moaning.
“Turn your back to me.”
She did, and then both of his hands fell on her skin where the opening to his too-big shirt hung wide on her shoulders. He kneaded at her neck, dragged his fingers against her scalp, and pressed delicious circles against her upper back. His big hands spanning her body, he pushed his thumbs into the muscles running down both sides of her spine.
Alexa did moan then. Heat licked over her body. From her embarrassment at the sound that had just spilled from her throat. From his warmth and closeness against her back. From his hands on her skin.
The quiet suddenly felt weighted, heady, full of anticipation. Was that her imagination? Or did Maverick feel it, too? She held stock-still, both because she didn’t want him to stop and because she felt like if she gave even the slightest indication that she wanted more, this moment would explode into something she maybe wasn’t ready for. Certainly not tonight.
Which made Maverick massaging her the sweetest torture. Because his touch brought her body to life like she’d been hibernating for the past five years. Her skin became hypersensitive. Her nipples hardened. Her core ached with need.
She shivered from the intensity of the arousal suddenly flooding through her.
“Cold?” he asked, hands smoothing up her back again.
“No,” she said.
“Tired?” The timbre of his voice was low, rough.
“I don’t know.” She peered over her shoulder. Maverick’s eyes were hot and intense, though she wasn’t sure what to make of that, or whether she was projecting her own desires onto him. “I don’t want to sleep again, though. I’d rather not be alone with my thoughts right now.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and then he pushed himself back into the corner of the couch. Regret at losing his touch rushed through Alexa until Maverick held open his arm to her. “Come here.”
Alexa didn’t let herself second-guess it. She moved into the space along the side of his body. Her head on his chest, her chest against his side, her legs pressed along his. The sensations were familiar and new at the same time.
His arm came around her shoulder. “Sleep, Alexa. Everything else we can figure out in the morning.”
“I hope so,” she said.
“I know it.” He gave her a squeeze.
His warmth and his scent and the lulling grumble of his voice made her eyelids sag and then close altogether. Maybe everything would look better in the light of day. She could only hope.
IT WAS ONE of Maverick’s favorite dreams.
He and Alexa had gone up to Swallow Falls in Western Maryland for a weekend getaway and were staying in one of the mini cabins at the state park. After a day of hiking and swimming and picnicking outside, they’d come back to their cabin tired and ready to crash, but getting naked for showers had sidetracked them for hours. And even once they finally fell asleep, Maverick was hard and ready every time he woke up, and he took her again and again, falling asleep still buried inside her . . .
And fuck if he wasn’t ready right now.
He burrowed his face in her soft hair and banded his arm around her stomach. His hand filled with the soft mound of her breast. He pulled her back against his chest and ground his erection against the swell of her ass.
“Maverick,” she moaned.
Hell, yeah. He nuzzled her neck, kissed her there, tasting and nipping and sucking. God, he needed in her. “Fuck, Alexa,” he whispered.
Her hand gripped his. “Maverick.”
He rolled her under him and crawled on top of her, his body falling into the cradle of her spread thighs.
“Uh, Maverick.”
He frowned and kissed her jaw, her cheek, her mouth.
It was the kiss that did it. Something wasn’t right. The memory playing out in his sleep-fogged mind didn’t feel like the reality confronting his physical senses. His eyes blinked open.
And he found himself lying on top of Alexa. Not in the cabin at Swallow Falls years before. In the gray morning light of his house. Her wide hazel eyes stared up at him.
He reared off of her in an instant. “Fuck,” he said, coming to stand by the couch. Alexa looked stunned—and so fucking sexy that Maverick barely resisted crawling back on top of her. She lay on her back in his clothes, on his couch, her knees drawn up and falling out, her hair sleep-mussed and sexy. Jesus. He adjusted himself, unable to hide his raging hard-on, and scrubbed at his face. “Goddamn dream. I’m sorry, Alexa. I didn’t mean to do that.”