In separate beds.
They would still be in separate beds, she told herself. The large king bed that dominated the room had given her a moment of panic when she saw it. But then she realized it was actually two twins that could be pulled a few inches apart—apparently a typical setup in this part of the world.
There was only one duvet—they were supposed to be married, so they could hardly ask the room to be made up as twins—but it was big enough so that there wouldn’t be any touching. Not that touching was a worry anyway. He’d made it pretty clear last time that he wasn’t interested in pursuing anything.
God, she was being such a girl! Did she have to overthink everything? He probably hadn’t given the sleeping situation more than a passing thought.
Man up, she told herself, and opened the door.
Manning up lasted about as long as it took for him to turn from where he stood at the window and take in her apparel with a glance.
She’d found a three-quarter-sleeve sport-jersey-style nightshirt that went to her knees. It was far more modest than the shorts and tank she’d had on yesterday, but from the way he was looking at her, she felt as if she’d walked in wearing a silk teddy.
Although with the level of heat penetrating from those steely eyes, she probably would have felt naked in one of her grandma’s old flannel nightgowns.
Maybe she hadn’t been the only one overthinking.
But when he clenched his jaw and hardened his gaze—lifting it from her bare legs and feet—she knew it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to act on whatever this was between them.
Suddenly she realized he was still wearing the polo and khakis that he’d worn to dinner. “You didn’t change?” she asked, feeling as if she’d just shown up to a party and was the only one dressed in costume.
“I need to go out for a little while. Go ahead and get some rest,” he said, all Mr. Business again.
In other words, don’t wait up. “Where are you going?”
She was beginning to read the little signs in his expressions, and this one said “curtain is down.” Granite curtain, and good luck lifting it.
“There’s something I have to take care of. It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?”
What choice did she have? She nodded, feeling unaccountably hurt. She knew that he didn’t have any obligation to tell her anything. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want him to.
If anything it was a harsh reminder that this little escapade didn’t mean anything. They might be temporarily stuck together, but in case she’d been under any illusions—which she might have been—as soon as he could be unstuck, he’d be going solo.
He’d made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t want her along. He’d promised to help her, but she knew that was all she could count on.
She wasn’t a girlfriend. She wasn’t a wife. She wasn’t anything.
One mind-blowing, never-felt-anything-like-that-in-her-life orgasm didn’t mean anything. She certainly didn’t have any kind of claim on him. Where he went was none of her business.
Maybe he was tired of her and needed a break. For all she knew he was going to a pub to drink and find someone he did want to pursue something with. He was a man. A very good-looking man, and he’d had more than one or two looks in his direction tonight as they left the restaurant and bar. If he wanted to pick someone up, she was sure it wouldn’t be difficult.
“All right,” she said in as normal a voice as she could manage. “Good night.”
She put her things down in a pile on the dresser and walked over to the bed. Choosing the side that was the farther from the door, she crawled under the duvet, pulled it over her shoulders, and turned on her side to face the wall.
There was a long pause where she was tempted to peek and see if he was looking at her. If he wanted to say something.
But she didn’t. A moment later, she heard him walk to the door, flip the light, and lock the door.
Then all she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating.
She lay there for a long time. Alone in the dark with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her, she felt the emotions of the past two days finally catching up with her.
Nineteen
She’d done the Bambi-eyes thing again, and it was eating away at him.
Dean hadn’t meant to be gone that long. He’d needed to make a call and hadn’t wanted to do it with her around. Taylor hadn’t answered, and Dean had instead left the LC a text telling him to call.
The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. But Dean hadn’t gone back to the room right away. He didn’t trust himself. Not with the thoughts that had been running through his mind when she appeared all freshly scrubbed, barefoot, and in that long T-shirt thing that made him feel as if he were back in high school, and she was wearing his football jersey. He’d always had a weakness for women wearing one of his shirts, but he’d never wanted to rip one off so badly.
He needed to calm the fuck down. Unwind. De-lust. Was that even a word? It didn’t matter; he needed to do it.
He was damned close to breaking his rule about drinking. Instead he sat outside for a while, let his body cool down, and then snuck back into the room long enough to retrieve a few things for a shower. The cold water didn’t do much, but his hand took the edge off his problem in short—very short—order. All he had to do was think about the night before—or that dress she’d been wearing—and he went off like a rocket.
Considerably less tense, if far from satisfied, Dean dried off and got ready for bed.
It was dark and quiet when he returned to the room. He tried not to make any noise when he put his stuff down and locked the door. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled off his shirt and removed his pants before slipping under the comforter. Unlike her, he hadn’t thought to buy something to sleep in. He’d be up before she was, so it wouldn’t matter. Besides, he burned hot and the room was stuffy even with the windows cracked.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, trying not to think about the woman sleeping a couple of feet away from him.
At least he thought she was sleeping. But then he realized she was too quiet. He should have been hearing the steady sounds of her breathing. Instead she seemed to be holding her breath.
When her breath hitched and she let out a muffled sob, he realized that was exactly what she’d been doing.
Ah, hell. She was crying. And Dean was in trouble because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to ignore it.
He shouldn’t have left her alone. He’d given her time to think and let it catch up to her. Julien had been a douche bag, but he hadn’t deserved to die.
She was still turned away from him, but Dean rolled onto his side, leaned over, and reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb. Christ, her skin was as soft as a baby’s.
Her face nuzzled into his hand at the touch, and his heart took a big, hard thump. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart.”
Shit? Where the fuck had that come from? He didn’t use endearments. Ever.
She turned to him in the darkness. He could see the damp sheen of her eyes reflecting back at him. “No, it won’t. They’re dead.” Her voice broke. “Dead. They didn’t deserve that.”
He caressed her cheek again with his thumb. He’d never felt anything so soft. Something clenched tight in his chest. “No, they didn’t.”
“It’s my fault.”
“How do you figure that?”
“If I hadn’t found—”
He stopped her right there. “If you hadn’t found that, a lot of innocent people might be dead—including me and you. You aren’t to blame for what happened, Annie.” His tone left her no room to argue. “All right?”
He could feel her eyes on his face as she nodded.
“Good. Then let’s get some rest.”
“I’m trying
.”
Dean debated for all of a split second before doing the one thing he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do. He stood up, pushed the mattresses back together, and pulled her against him.
She might have been a child lying here with her cheek on his shoulder, and her palm lying flat on his chest.
But she wasn’t. She felt incredible. As if she belonged there. All soft and firm in the right places. The skin-to-skin contact took his attraction to an entirely different level, flooding him with all kinds of impulses.
But he pushed aside his own demons and gave her what she needed—comfort. He held her in his arms, stroking her head gently, until they both fell asleep.
Which was fine until morning came.
• • •
Annie woke slowly from a deep, deep sleep. The dreamy fog took a while to dissipate. She was so warm and comfortable, it was almost as if she didn’t want to let it go.
Instinctively she snuggled deeper into the body that was holding her from behind.
She sighed, knowing exactly who it was.
God, he felt good. His chest was like a wall of warm steel at her back, and his legs and arms were like a muscular fortress wrapped around her. She felt safe and protected and . . . hot.
Very, very hot. And very, very turned on. Especially when she realized he was awake and hard.
Awareness shot through her like a lightning bolt. The sensation of that big, powerful body behind her—and the sizable column pressing against her bottom—set off all kinds of primitive instincts that she didn’t even know she had. The most demanding being hunger. Although that didn’t really cover the overwhelming desire she was feeling.
Last night she’d needed comfort, but this morning she needed something else. She needed him inside her. Now.
Rocking back against him, her body told him exactly that. It practically screamed Fuck me.
He answered with a groan and a slow, purposeful caress of those big callused hands down her waist and hips as his mouth sank against the warm skin at the nape of her neck.
His kiss electrified her, her skin tingling and tightening. Everything seemed to jump to light speed. There was no hesitation. No thinking to slow them down. It was the continuation of a dream from which neither of them wanted to wake.
Whatever qualms he’d had the other night were forgotten. He was in full command, leaving no doubt of where this was going. Fast.
Just the way she wanted it. Her body responded to the frantic urgency, moving more insistently. Demandingly.
Hurry.
He heard her. Responding in kind. He devoured her neck and shoulder as his hand skimmed her waist to take hold of her hip to pull her firmly against him. Grinding. Thrusting. Giving her a hint of what was to come.
She couldn’t wait. She whimpered, almost coming apart. Her body didn’t feel like her own. She felt like a stranger. An uninhibited stranger who was giving in to every sensual impulse she’d ever had. The warmth of his mouth on her skin was incredible, but the feel of him behind her was something else entirely. It was indescribable. Perfect.
Her nightshirt had risen up to her waist during the night, meaning it didn’t have much farther to go before it was pulled over her head. Her thong was hastily slid down over her hips to her feet, where she could kick it off, as his hand dipped between her legs to stroke her.
She started to moan, instantly wet. Like last time, he knew just how to touch her. Where to touch her for maximum pleasure. She didn’t open her eyes; she just let herself feel, giving over to the powerful sensations that had taken control of her body.
There was no stopping it. No drawing it out. His breath was coming too hard, his stroke too demanding, the feel of their bodies grinding too familiar.
It was like a freight train of need barreling down on her. She started to cry out as he forced her over the edge.
She’d barely had time to come down before he was lifting her hips and probing her tingly flesh with the thick, blunt tip of his erection.
A new shudder that was like nothing she’d ever experienced before went through her. It was raw. Primal. Pleasure at its most extreme. She wanted him inside her now. She wanted that big body pounding inside her, muscles flared and taut with need for her.
She was warm and wet and ready from her orgasm, and he didn’t hesitate. With one hard thrust he surged inside her.
She cried out at the sensation. At the possession. At the feel of him deep inside her. He was big and thick and long, and she could feel every powerful inch as he thrust a little deeper and harder.
When he was touching the deepest part of her, he stopped and held himself there as if savoring the connection. She’d never felt closer to anyone in her life. In the midst of the sexual frenzy, it was a strangely poignant and romantic moment.
But then, as if the brief pause had taken all his reserve, he started to move. Thrusting slow and deep. Hard and possessive. Her body jolting with every stroke.
This was what she’d been craving. Hot, wild, dirty sex. To be fucked by a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
Faster. Harder. Oh God, yes. Just like that. Take me. . . .
Had she spoken aloud? When he swore and tightened his grasp on her hips to quicken his stroke, she thought she might have.
She arched against him, wanting even more. She loved the feel of her bottom against his groin, her back against his chest, and her breasts straining toward . . . his hand. He cupped and squeezed her breast while his fingers plied her nipple to a tight bud.
She could feel the need building in her again. The storm of frenzy waiting to unleash. She knew he’d be good in bed, but she’d never thought it would be like this.
“That’s it, sweetheart—come for me again.” She could feel the warmth of his breath by her ear, and it only made her shuddering worse. “You are so fucking hot. You’re making me wild. I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”
His hand skimmed down her stomach and he touched her between her legs just as he thrust deep and hard. She went off like a bomb. Sensation shattered in a thousand directions. Her head exploded in an array of blazing light and color.
He shuddered once, and then cursed.
He pulled out so suddenly it took her a minute to realize what had happened. He’d nearly come inside her. Which wouldn’t have been such a big deal if he’d been wearing a condom.
No condom. It took a moment for that to sink in, given the other very powerful feelings that were still reverberating through her body. It wasn’t just orgasmic bliss—it was something else. Something she didn’t want to put words to.
Unfortunately, he did.
Twenty
What the fuck was that? Something had just happened, and whatever it was had left Dean reeling.
It had been . . . Shit, he couldn’t even describe it. But it had been an entirely different level. He felt as if he’d been wallowing in the minor leagues and had just gotten called up to the bigs.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as the blood pounding through his body—including his heart—returned to normal. His breathing was hard and heavy, not from the length of his exertion—he sure as hell wasn’t going to win any marathon awards for that—but from the intensity. Every muscle, every bone, every fiber of his body had been invested and focused on what he was doing to her. What was happening. The feelings, the sensations had taken hold of him completely in a way that he’d never experienced before.
Also never experienced before? Sex without a condom. Christ, he’d been a split second away from coming inside her! He raked his fingers back through his hair, forgetting that it was short again.
What the hell could he have been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking; that was the problem. He’d been acting on pure animal instinct.
He’d woken up with that taut, curvy ass pressed against him, and he’d been in a tunnel of nee
d so dark and deep, nothing could have pulled him out. Take her. She wants it. You both want it. Don’t think. Just fuck. Fuck her until you can’t see straight.
Mission accomplished. Hooyah.
But what a fucking mess. He said the first thing that came to mind as he felt her turn toward him. “That was a mistake.”
• • •
Annie usually liked Dan’s blunt tell-it-like-it-is, no-sugarcoating brusqueness. Now, however, was not one of those times.
She’d been feeling oddly vulnerable and had instinctively sought the warmth and connection of his body by curling against him.
But when he made his pronouncement, she stiffened and started to roll away. He swore and caught her by the arm.
“That isn’t what I meant.” He must have realized he sounded like an ass. Great. Give him the prize for awareness. Their eyes met for the first time that morning. Her chest squeezed. Whatever she’d hoped to see, it wasn’t regret. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But I’ve never had sex without a condom—I’m clean.”
Annie knew that the mistake he’d been talking about wasn’t just about protection. She could see it in every white etched line of his grim expression. This was a mistake, was what he meant. The most incredible sexual experience of her life—by far—had been a “mistake.”
Ouch. So much for postcoital cuddling and warm reassurances about how amazing that had been. How he’d never felt anything like it. How it had been as earth-shattering for him as it had been for her. How it might have meant something.
All those overwhelming, complicated, vulnerable feelings she had twisting and squeezing inside her? Yeah, well, they were one-sided.
She told herself that she had no reason to be disappointed. No reason to be hurt. Hot monkey sex—or, in this case, doggy without the hands and knees—wasn’t romantic. It didn’t inspire tender moments of postorgasmic bliss. She had no reason to expect more than a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
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