Secretly Yours (The Wild McBrides 2)

“I’m sure I will.”

Unconvinced, Trent pictured her lying wide-eyed in bed, starting at every sound. “I’ll take the couch,” he said gruffly, making an impulsive decision. “Got an extra pillow?”

She looked startled. “You’re going to sleep on my couch? Trent, that really isn’t necessary.”

He shrugged. “I’m tired. I can rest a few hours here and then head home in the morning. I’ve slept on your couch before, you know.”

“And you barely fit on it,” she retorted, a bit of her usual spirit returning.

“I fit well enough.” He didn’t even want to think about how his back would feel after a night on the cramped sofa, but he couldn’t leave her here alone and scared. He wasn’t trying to be a hero, he assured himself. He just thought she needed a friend right now—and wasn’t that what he’d tried to convince Wade, and himself, that he was?

She shook her head. “There’s no need for you to sleep on my couch, Trent. I appreciate the offer. It’s very—”

He gave her a warning look and she quickly amended the statement to exclude the word he disliked. “It’s very generous of you to offer,” she said, “but I’ll be fine alone.”

She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met—with the exception of his mother, of course. Couldn’t even let a guy do something nice for her without arguing. Losing patience, he dropped his hands on her shoulders and put his face close to hers. “Annie—”

She swallowed. “Yes?”

“Shut up and go to bed. I’ll be in here if you need me.”

He watched her hesitate a moment longer, obviously torn between pride and anxiety, and then she nodded. “All right. But if you stay, you’ll take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s long enough for me.”

“No. I—”

“Trent.” This time it was Annie who sounded out of patience. “Just shut up and go to bed, will you?”

He might have smiled, had she not been standing so very close, looking soft and rumpled and vulnerable. It suddenly occurred to him that he had just made a huge mistake. Spending the night here—in her bed, no less? Had he completely lost his mind?

9

ANNIE HAD BEEN on the living-room couch less than twenty minutes when she conceded that she wouldn’t be getting any sleep. It had little to do with the occasional whine from the laundry room, but everything to do with the silence coming from her bedroom.

She kept picturing Trent in her bed, only a few yards from where she lay. He’d been so determined to stay. He had obviously seen how frightened she’d been when she’d thought someone was trying to break in. She winced when she remembered the foolishly female thrill she’d felt at having him rush to her rescue, looking so strong and masculine and protective. She’d felt so safe when he’d wrapped her in his arms, even though the police had already arrived.

This was no way, she thought with a scowl, to convince him—or herself—that she was capable of taking care of herself.

She would have to reassure him tomorrow that she wasn’t afraid of living alone. She’d spent a few restless nights when she’d first moved here, but that was understandable since it had been her first time on her own. It had taken a little adjustment, especially considering that her first home creaked and groaned and rattled, but she’d adapted well, she thought. Tonight was the first time she had been truly afraid.

Apparently, she’d been more shaken than she’d realized by the appearance of that car again near the law firm. Both times she’d seen it, the driver had acted oddly, parking in out-of-the-way places and then driving away after being noticed. She still believed it had to be coincidence—what else could it be? She shouldn’t have mentioned it to Trent. It was probably just his overreaction that had unsettled her. But she’d been thinking about that car when she’d heard the noises outside her house.

All that fuss over a stray dog, she thought with another ripple of embarrassment.

Unable to lie still any longer, she tossed off her blanket, swung her bare feet to the floor and sat up. Maybe she should go talk to Bozo. They could whine together.

The bedroom door suddenly opened. Wearing only jeans, Trent leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. The living room was dark, so he was silhouetted against the light coming from the lamp in the bedroom behind him. She could see him—and his bare chest—well enough to have to swallow hard in reaction.

“Are you still nervous or just uncomfortable?” he asked.

Although she couldn’t sleep, she hadn’t been particularly nervous or uncomfortable until Trent had appeared half-naked in front of her. Now her mouth was dry, her palms were damp, and her lungs seemed to have forgotten how to function. Talk about overreacting!

She cleared her throat, forcing her voice out past a sizable lump. “I’m fine. I hope I’m not keeping you awake.”

He moved away from the door, taking a couple of steps toward her. “As a matter of fact, you are.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quieter.”

“Wouldn’t make any difference.” He stood beside the couch, almost close enough for her to reach out and touch him. She had to curl her fingers inward to keep from doing just that.