Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(47)

“Mmm-hmm.” I don’t trust myself to speak.

“I’ll make your bad dreams go away, Vaughn,” he murmurs and presses a kiss against the crown of my head. “All of them. You don’t need to worry anymore. I’ve got you now.”

And with my hand pressed against his heart and his chin resting atop my head, I revel in this foreign feeling as his breath slowly evens out with sleep.

In the comfort.

In the feeling of being safe.

In the notion that I’m not alone.

How could I have wanted to fight this feeling? How could I have thought all this time that being alone was better for me?

Sure, we’re not perfect . . . but this—Ryker and his arms around me, helping to chase away the demons of my past—is something I can’t describe.

And almost as much as it scares me . . . it also feels so very therapeutic.

It makes me realize that this feeling might just make everything worth it.

I’ve got you now.

Every last thing.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ryker

The Red Sox T-shirt is bunched around her waist, and she’s sprawled diagonally across my bed. The sheets are twisted around her legs, when thirty minutes ago those long temptations were tangled around mine as we slept.

I let her sleep. As much as I want to wake her up, I let her sleep. My mind ghosts over her bad dream last night. The trembling of her hand against my chest. The racing of her pulse at her temple beneath my lips.

And I wonder what it was she dreamed about.

She shifts, her shirt lifting a little higher, the curve of her thigh revealed a bit more, and I find it impossible to take my eyes off her.

What is it about this woman that makes me fight to not have sex with her?

Am I fucking crazy to turn those legs and that ass and that goddamn vise-grip pussy down like I did last night?

I button up the rest of my dress shirt as I watch her. The light hair fanned on the dark sheets. The dark lashes on the pale skin of her cheeks. The pink lips that would make any man beg for mercy. I want her in the best way. In the worst way. Hell, in any way.

I’m crazy all right, but now it seems I’m crazy for her.

How’d that fucking happen? When did I become a man who wines and dines without expecting a thing in return?

My phone vibrates on the dresser next to me. A reminder of my court date in two hours and another about my meeting with Stuart at three.

He’d better have something for me. Her stockings at my feet catch my eye, and then the bustier a few feet beyond that. I smile. Her blatant defiance shouldn’t cause that reaction from me, but it does.

She shifts on the bed, and a soft sound of contentment sighs from her lips—the same one she gives when I push into her during sex—as she snuggles back into the comforter.

What if Stuart has dug up information on her that you’re not prepared to hear? What are you going to do with it then?

Is it going to change how you feel about her, Ryk?

How bad would it have to be to make that happen?

Fuck.

I blow out a sigh, and even though I know I need to head into the office, my feet move toward her. To the one person I keep being drawn to over and over despite telling myself that it’s too much work, too much hassle, too much feeling.

I rest my hip on the side of the bed and press a kiss to her temple.

“Please tell me you’re not dressed yet,” she murmurs but doesn’t open her eyes. Instead, she turns toward me and buries her face between the outside of my thigh and the mattress. The heat of her breath warms my slacks. The scent of her shampoo is faint but there. “It’s too early.”

“Mmm.” The drapes are drawn to mute the light, so I get why she thinks that. “Not early, no.”

“What time—”

“Shh.” I cut her off and link my fingers with hers. “I have to get to court.”

“Noooo. Don’t go.”

Goddamn it. The temptation to call the judge and postpone—give some bullshit reason that won’t hold—so that I can slide back into the bed beside her has never been more appealing.

“I have to go.” It pains me to say those four words.

“Aren’t you tired?”

Exhausted. “That’s what espresso’s for. Stay here and get some sleep. Just lock the door on the way out, and don’t drink all my parents’ alcohol so I get in trouble when they get home.”

I can feel her lips spread into a smile against my leg. “Promise. But only if I can keep a Yankees shirt here to sleep in.”

That ridiculously simple statement made in that sleep-drugged rasp of hers just made me way too fucking happy.

Yeah, I definitely need help.

She takes our linked hands and pulls them so she can press a kiss against mine. “Promise?” she prompts.

“Promise.” I run my other hand over her hair. “I left a new toothbrush on the counter for you and one of my shirts for you to wear if you want.”

“Efficient,” she murmurs as her breathing begins to even out again.

“Always.” Another kiss to her cheek. “Thanks for not running away this time.”

“Mmm.”

It’s the only sound she makes as she slips back to sleep. I don’t move, though. Like a fucking sap I sit and watch her. The rise and fall of her chest. The curve of her body beneath the oversize shirt. And for a moment I’m more than tempted to break every ounce of resolve I held on to last night. I’m more than certain that burying myself to the hilt in her right now would trump the high I expect to claim in court later when I walk away with the settlement in my client’s favor.