Page 23

Eden

I wake in the dark and for a long moment don’t know where I am. I’m curled on my side, and there’s something delightfully warm behind me and a heavy weight across my body.

It takes me a moment to realize that the warm object is Rhys and the weight is his arm wrapped over me. His hand is tucked near one of my breasts—not touching. My nipple tightens in recognition.

There are layers of blankets between our bodies, a sort of sleeping bag he made for me by folding the covers in half.

He’s breathing evenly, sleeping.

I fell asleep to the bliss of his hands on my feet, the gorgeous sense of being cared for.

I remember him adjusting my pillows and urging me to lie down, his voice reaching me from a distance, like we were underwater.

Halfway between asleep and awake, I knew I didn’t want him to leave, and I reached for him.

He stayed.

I should wake him up. I should kick him out of my bed .

Except that’s the last thing I want to do. I want to curl closer, to ease back into his warmth, to tuck my backside against his hips. To wrap his arm tighter and nudge his hand around the curve of my breast.

I do none of those things, but I do get out of bed and slide back in under the quilt and sheet. I fold his half of the bedclothes over him, so we’re both covered, under the bedding together. Then I settle myself into the big spoon of his body, close my eyes and drift, wrapped in his warmth.

Light pours through the crack in the blinds the next time I wake, and I jolt into full consciousness, checking the clock. Whew—plenty of time to make our flight.

Rhys is still behind me, but sometime in the night he edged closer.

His arm is still over me, his chest against my back, all solid muscle.

And like the answer to my middle-of-the-night fantasy, his hips have found my backside, and I can feel the entire length of him, morning hard, pressed against me.

Holy crap, he’s thick.

I want that.

Inside me.

I don’t move even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to rock my hips, tilt back against him.

I don’t move, even though I really, really want to squeeze my thighs together to ease the clamoring need in my core and clit.

I don’t move, but I’m so, so tempted to slide my hand under the edge of the skirt I fell asleep in, up to the edge of the red thong I couldn’t resist putting on.

I could tease myself, just a little. I could slick a finger and run it across my clit a few times.

But before I can do it—or decide it’s a terrible idea—Rhys stirs behind me. Groans. Presses closer, erection perfectly lined up against my ass.

Oh, God .

He’s really hard. And deliciously big. And making me think about how good that cock would feel everywhere I want it.

I should get up! Quick! Before he wakes up for ? —

But it’s too late. Behind me, I feel the moment when he freezes, his breathing suddenly held.

And there’s only one sensible thing for me to do.

I pretend to be asleep.

He slowly eases himself away from me. I try to breathe the way people do when they’re sleeping, but I can’t remember how that works. Is it slow? Even? Or…I shouldn’t pretend to snore, right? That’s how people get caught at fake sleeping.

He rolls away, and I hear the slight thump of his feet hitting the floor on the other side of the bed. I lie perfectly still and listen as his footsteps move toward the bathroom.

The door closes and the shower starts.

Is he…?

Will he…?

I strain to hear. Something, anything. Breath catching. A rough groan. I want to know.

I want to be in there with him.

I want to get out of bed and knock on the bathroom door.

Push it open. I want to see him through the glass shower door.

Hand on the wall, head down slightly, body curved forward over the thick length of his erection, held tight in his fist. I want to watch his hand move over the head, his grip on himself deliciously, punishingly tight.

One of my hands has crept down between my legs again, cupped around the warmth of my mound through my panties. The pressure feels so, so good. I could?—

“Hey. You awake?”

He’s standing in the bathroom doorway, towel around his waist, dripping.

“I was a dope and got into the shower without my stuff. Can you grab me my shampoo out of that bag?”

I ease my hand quietly from between my legs, roll out of bed, and hurry to do as he’s asked.

Shampoo in fist, he retreats into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

I bury my face in my hands, shaking my head at my own behavior. And then, before I can do anything else foolish and deluded, I reach for my phone and check my messages.