So, yeah, he let Emma go to bed and waited for her to fall asleep. Might have been cowardly, but he knew it would be an added protection against anything happening between them.
Slowly he rose and walked to the bed. Emma lay on her side, waiting like a gift beneath his Christmas tree. Tawny strands of gold spilled off the pillow she’d punched into a ball. She looked angelic.
Yet he still wanted to gather her to him and slowly unbutton her puppy-dog jammies.
Tugging off his jeans, he lay them on the ransacked trunk filled with girlie magazines. Then he shucked off his sweater, leaving him clad only in his boxers, undershirt and socks. Not the sexiest of outfits, but he’d be way more comfortable.
Carefully he pulled the blankets back and eased ever so gently into the bed. Luckily his side was warm because of Emma’s body heat. It took a minute for him to fully relax, mostly because the pillow was total crap and the sheets smelled like his aunt Marmie’s house.
But then he caught the scent of the warm woman sleeping next to him. She wore some sultry perfume that smelled like a field of flowers and money all rolled up into one. And she snored softly. Nothing obnoxious, just little puffs of air.
He carefully rolled onto his side, turning his back to her and tucking up the covers. The bed was a bit hard and sprongy, but he’d slept on worse. Closing his eyes, he vowed to fall asleep.
But then she turned over and snuggled up to him, her hand inching across his waist. And that was all it took for his cock to twitch.
Jeez, what the hell. He reacted like some knock-kneed schoolboy who’d never gotten laid before. But obviously that part below his belt hadn’t gotten the memo that nothing was going to happen.
“Mmm,” she moaned, snuggling into him, tucking her legs up so they fit the back of his thighs, her warm breath penetrating the cotton of his undershirt.
“Emma?” he whispered.
“Mmm?”
“Nothing,” he said, because if he asked her why she’d cuddled up next to him, she’d withdraw. And if he had to sleep with a hard dick, he’d do it. Because the feeling of her pressed next to him was worth the blue balls he’d wake up with in the morning.
He let loose a sigh and stared at the rough-hewn wall. The low light from the fireplace tossed shadows against the grain.
Emma’s hand flattened against his belly, moving ever so slightly, almost a caress.
Pure torture.
Her breathing changed and it was at that moment he knew she’d woken.
“Emma?” he whispered again.
“What?” she whispered back.
“You can’t keep doing that.”
“Doing what?” she whispered, her hand stilling.
He turned over.
She didn’t move, her hand fell across his abdomen and her head dropped just beneath his shoulder. Sleepy green eyes met his gaze. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to stay warm,” she whispered.
“Oh,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to him. She lifted her head onto his shoulder and even her knee crooked over his leg slightly. He set his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it to warm her. She felt plenty warm, but the fire had nearly died out and the insulation in the small cabin didn’t look up to date.
Raising her hand, she set it on his chest.
“Your heart is beating fast.”
No shit.
He was a hair’s breadth away from rolling her onto her back and showing her just how much he wanted her. With every fiber of his being he wanted to sink inside her and lose himself in something so good. It took every ounce of strength he had to reach up and grab her hand. “Em, you’re playing with fire. I have pretty good self-control, but just so you know, I’m on the edge, sweetheart.”
“What if I want to go over the edge with you?” she asked, lifting her head slightly and studying him.
He couldn’t see if she was being a tease or serious.
“Have you thought about what that would mean?”
“Yes, but no one will ever have to know, would they?” she asked, wriggling her hand from his grasp. She petted his T-shirt seductively. “I mean, we don’t have to tell. It could be like a little secret. Like one of those things that happen at a party when you’re drunk...and you never talk about it again. Pretend it away.”
Briefly he closed his eyes because he really wanted to do as she suggested. Opening them, he said, “Can you handle that?”
“Sure I can,” she said, but her words seemed hollow. As though maybe she wasn’t the kind who could ever handle a true one-night stand, no matter how much she wanted to believe it. But was that his problem?