Officer, Surgeon...Gentleman!

“We didn’t have sex?” Had her voice just squeaked? They were practically naked in bed together.

His lips twisted wryly. “When we have sex, I’d prefer you to be awake rather than asleep in my arms.”

She’d slept in his arms?

“Yes.”

Had she asked that out loud? Since he was grinning at her and he’d answered, she obviously had. Brilliant.

The corner of his mouth lifted higher. “You have the sexiest little snore when you’re drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk.” She didn’t even believe herself, neither did she want to tell him about her poor sleep habits as of late, so she added, “Much.”

Scooting up on his pillow, he laughed.

“Okay, maybe I was a litt

le tipsy.” Dragging her gaze back from where the sheet had inched farther down on his hips, barely covering the very male part of him that she’d apparently not seen the night before. Her own state of undress became more of an issue and she tugged on the sheet, tucking the edges beneath her arms to hold the material snugly around her. “I should go.”

The laughter in his gaze flickered and he let out a long sigh. “Are we back to that?”

She thought about what he was asking, what he was really wanting to know. Now that she wasn’t under an alcoholic haze, was he once again the enemy?

She couldn’t find the words to answer, didn’t know how to answer. Could she get past what had happened? Had she already? Was that why she was with him? Because at some point over the past few weeks she’d stopped thinking of him as the bad guy and started seeing him as the attractive man she’d always been crazy about.

“Amelia.” No longer looking amused, he raked his fingers through his short hair. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting you.”

“I didn’t ask you to apologize,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But you regret being here with me? That we spent the night together?”

She tugged the sheet more tightly around her. “Nothing happened. You said so yourself.”

“I didn’t say that nothing happened.” Two wonderfully sculpted shoulders shrugged. “Just that we didn’t have sex.”

“But—” She glared at him, feeling at a distinct disadvantage that she didn’t remember what they’d done. Or not done. “What exactly happened?”

A smile once again pulled at the corner of his mouth. “One of the highlights was when you begged me to make love to you.”

She gasped, wanting to call him a liar, to tell him he was remembering wrong.

“And?” Had he said no? She couldn’t believe it. And if he had refused her, what were they doing in bed together?

“You stripped off your dress in the worst—and yet definitely the best,” he added as if recalling a particular memory, “striptease I’ve ever been privileged to witness.”

“Seen a lot of stripteases, have you?” she bit out, wondering how big a fool she’d been and vowing to never drink alcohol ever again. Never ever, ever again.

“Not really, but last night’s was spectacular on many counts.”

“But not so spectacular that we actually had sex.”

Was she upset that the striptease she couldn’t remember had been a dud? Pride. Had to be wounded pride.

“Make no mistake, Amelia, if you hadn’t fallen asleep, I would have made love to you until you couldn’t see straight.” His gaze bored into hers, pinning her to the bed. “Until you couldn’t do anything except whimper my name in ecstasy.”

She’d have liked him to have made love to her like that. Over and over until her eyes rolled back in her head and she arched off the bed and…

“You have no idea how frustrated I was when I realized you weren’t faking.”