Hitched(30)

I wrap an arm around her and kiss her forehead, falling a little more in love with her with every passing minute. That’s what this is, what it’s always been for me. I’m in love with this woman, who’s been in so much more pain than I ever realized.

But not anymore. No more alone. No more sad.

I’m going to show her that she can be safe in someone’s arms too.

Mine.





Twelve





Hope





* * *



I wake up delicious.

I am a sticky bun with extra icing.

I am a hot fudge sundae with bonus caramel sauce.

I am a two-hour massage followed by a sauna and a hot tub soak and finished off with a nap in a sea-side hammock.

I am boneless with delight, perfectly warm and perfectly cozy and perfectly held.

Held…

My brow furrows, but I keep my eyes closed as I drift more fully into wakefulness and do a full body scan.

Yes, that is indeed a big, strong arm wrapped around my ribs and nestled familiarly between my breasts. That is someone’s sleepy breath stirring the hair on the top of my head and someone’s long, lean, muscled form tucked against my back in the big spoon position. And that is most definitely someone’s morning whack of dawn pressed against the base of my spine.

Despite all the years separating my first and latest experience with this particular sausage sunrise, I’d know it anywhere, even if Blake didn’t happen to be the only man presently sleeping in my house. His cock has personality and a…ahem…girthiness that is unparalleled in the rest of my experience.

I squeeze my eyes even more tightly shut, mouthing a silent curse.

Damn sleepwalking, damn my weak sense of self-preservation, and damn Blake for letting me crawl in with him when I’m guessing it was pretty clear I was not operating consciously.

Damn him for feeling so damned good.

For holding me so damned perfectly.

And for possessing such damned fabulous slumber lumber.

I fully intend to read him the riot act—and set forth some very firm ground rules about how to handle a sleepwalking incident should it happen again—but first to escape with as much of my dignity intact as possible.

Moving stealthy like a ninja, I circle my fingers as far as I can around his wrist and lift the dead weight of his arm just high enough to give me room to slip under. I wiggle forward, centimeter by torturous centimeter, but I’m still several inches from the edge of the couch when a husky voice murmurs, “Leaving so soon?”

I curse beneath my breath and release his arm like it’s made of molten lava. He moves his hand to my hip, squeezing it through the covers with a familiarity that feels lovely.

Unfortunately, wondering what the hell I said to him last night while I was sleep drunk feels equally shitty.

I hate not being in control like that. Especially when it puts me at someone else’s mercy.

“Nothing happened,” he says. “I just offered you a safe place to lie down with the covers between us. I was worried you might hurt yourself if I let you head off on your own.”

My irritation evaporates in the warmth of his sweetly-intentioned words, but I’m still mortified, and will continue to be so until I know—“How bad was I? Did I say anything I need to apologize for?”

“No, not at all,” he says, squeezing my hip again. “You didn’t say much, actually. Just that you were really sleepy.” He hesitates for a second before adding with laughter in his voice, “And something about getting some corn chips for a baby elephant in a sippy cup.”

“Oh, god,” I huff. Still, it could have been so much worse. I glance over my shoulder at him. “Sorry about that. I should have warned you about the sleepwalking. I was hoping it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“No big deal. Just worried me a little. You ever end up outside the house when you do that?”

“A couple of times,” I confess, earning myself a disapproving rumble. “But not in a long time. Not since I put the extra locks on the door. My sleepwalking self seems to be too lazy to get through more than one or two before she gives up. And I don’t do it all the time. Only when I’m super tired or…stressed.”

“Sorry about that,” he says softly.

“It’s not your fault. It’s Kyle and the detective and all the rest of it. And it could’ve been worse. Once I woke up and I’d shorted out the pencil sharpener and a spare TV that I kept in my office.” I sigh. “Speaking of the rest of it, I should probably take Dean a cup of coffee.”

“You should absolutely not take Dean a cup of coffee.”

“It got chilly last night,” I argue. “I’m sure he’d appreciate something hot to drink.”

“And the chance to probe you for information while you’re sleepy and your guard is down.” He pats my ass. “You’re too trusting.”

“And you’re patting my ass.”

“It’s a nice ass,” he says. “And it’s right there…”

“You’re saying I should get up if I don’t want my ass patted?”

“I’m saying you should stay right here,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist again. “And go back to sleep with me. It’s barely six AM.”