Out Of The Blue (The Wrong Bed #12)(11)

"I scared you. I'm sorry."

"No. No, you don't understand."

He was fascinated by the play of candlelight over her hair. Lightly, he stroked a hand down her back, over her hair, feeling the soft, long strands catch on his work-roughened skin.

"I wasn't afraid of you." It seemed very important to her that he believe her. "I would never be afraid of you."

He was thinking if she could read his thoughts, she might not feel so confident of that. "Because I'm a cop?"

"Because I know you. Knew you," she corrected.

"Ten years." He was riveted by the look in her eyes, by the feeling she was waiting for … something, but he didn't know what. "I can't believe it's been so long. You were so young when I last saw you, and now… Look at you, you're beautiful."

"Zach—"

"We never got a chance to say a proper hello, did we?"

"Not a proper one," she said, her lips curving. "No, we didn't."

Slowly, he drew her close. For a brotherly hug.

A nice-to-see-you-again hug.

Big mistake.

His body knew it instantly, at the first shock of holding her against him. Again. His mind knew it, too, it was just slower to respond because the feel of her warm, soft curves pretty much blocked out anything else.

"Your side—"

"It's fine," he assured her, and she nodded, tipping her head up, closing her eyes. His body responded automatically, leaning toward her for the kiss—

Wait. No. No kiss. What was he doing? With an oath, he pulled away.

She let out a soft sound of disappointment.

This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be wanting her like this. She was his baby sister's best friend. She was his own best friend's baby sister!

And yet the feel of her against him…

"Sleep," he said, far less firmly than he meant, but dammit, he wasn't just a little turned on here.

He was dying.

"Yes, sleep." She cleared her throat and backed away. She glanced at the candles with a sort of … hurt?

He had no idea what that was about.

"I'm going to go downstairs," she said a bit breathlessly. "To get an extra supply of bedding for the couch. Make yourself … at home."

That would be difficult in his current condition. Sleep would be impossible. "Is it all right if I take a shower?" A cold one, a very cold one.

"Help yourself." As if she was late for a wildfire, she hightailed it to the door.

He showered quickly, then toweled off, thinking if he didn't lie down soon, he was going to fall down. Eyes gritty, muscles quivering faintly with exhaustion, he hung up the towel and swore.

So used to sleeping in the buff, he hadn't thought to grab clean clothes.

He'd left his bag … where? By the front door. With a huge yawn, he grabbed the towel again, slung it around his hips and tiptoed out, hoping that Hannah had come back and had already fallen asleep.

The lights were off, which he took as a good sign. She'd gone to sleep then. Making his way in the dark, he tried to be quiet. He tried so hard that he tripped over his own shoes, nearly killing himself in the dark. Pain arched through his side at the sharp movement.

Biting back his oath, he stood again … without his towel, which had fallen. Though the movement was torture, he reached down, searching, but couldn't find the thing anywhere. Finally, he went on without it because he was not only standing there naked as a jaybird, but he was freezing. Feeling for the door, he once again bent down, groping for the bag he'd so thoughtlessly tossed when he'd thought he was in his own room.

As he slung it over his shoulder and carefully straightened, the light came on, blinding him. Lifting a hand up to cover the glare, he heard a gasp.

Hannah's gasp.

She stood by the light switch, still fully dressed. "Okay, this time you scared me," she whispered.

He stood there, stark naked, with Hannah staring at him, eyes huge and dilated, mouth open. "Uh … Hannah?"

"Yes?"

He held his duffel bag in front of him. "Could you cut the light?"

Her gaze was glued to the bag. "You're naked."

No kidding. "I lost my towel in the dark, I forgot my clothes, and … and dammit, why aren't you in bed asleep?"

"I'm not taking the bed, you're the guest."

Her eyes hadn't moved from their target, and they were once again filled with that heated awareness. It wouldn't take but a second more of this to completely void out the effects of his cold shower. "Hannah?"

"Hmm?"

"The lights?"

"Oh!" She reached out, then stopped. "If I turn them off, how will you find your way?"

"I'll manage," he assured her through his teeth as he forced a reassuring smile.

"You'll hurt yourself. I'll just close my eyes." Which she promptly did.

"Fine." He hunkered down for his dropped towel, which he could see now thanks to the light, but before he could secure it, her eyes flew open again.

"Hannah!"

She bit her lip and looked only slightly remorseful as her gaze once again ate him up. "I just wanted to tell you, the couch is far too small. You'll bump your side or your head all night, or even fall off, or—"