Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency 1)

“I don’t remember her using the word ‘mandatory.’”

“Are you afraid I’m going to laugh at your jammies or something?”

He spent another useless minute arguing the check-ins weren’t necessary, but she pulled out the symptom sheet she’d gotten at the hospital, ticked off headache, irritability, and memory loss, and suggested maybe she should go ahead and call an ambulance. He relented, retrieved his extra key, and handed it over with an exasperated, “See you at eleven. For the record, I sleep naked.”

“For the record, I’ve already seen you naked,” she tossed back, just before she closed the door.

Very funny. Sharing a bath as infants hardly qualified as seeing him naked. Even so, he caught himself smiling as he got ready for bed. In deference to his night nanny, he left the hall light burning, and pulled on an old pair of sweatpants and a not-so-old white T-shirt before he crawled into bed. He picked up the remote from his nightstand and turned on the TV centered on the wall across from his bed. With the sound down, he clicked over to the sports network, thinking he’d catch some final scores, but then found himself listening to Savannah humming to herself through the wall. It took him a moment to place the song.

/> “Before He Cheats.” Yeah, this is where he’d come in.

When she got to the “pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive” part she broke off. A moment later her bedsprings squeaked and a light knock came from the wall behind his head, followed by a muffled, “Night, Beau.”

“Night, Savannah,” he replied, and tried to concentrate on the TV rather than every little squeak and groan of her mattress as she shifted around for a comfy position. His imagination offered up a graphic slide show of possible positions for her to assume.

He focused on the scores scrolling across the crawl at the bottom of the screen. North Carolina beat Duke. Good. Penn State beat Wisconsin. The Bruins beat the Trojans and covered the spread. Miracle. The network cut to a commercial and he rested his eyes for a second…

Savannah’s scent surrounded him. Her breath fanned his cheek as she whispered his name. One busy hand drifted over his shoulder and down his chest. His subconscious mind hadn’t treated him to a dream this vivid in a long time, but his body rushed to enjoy it. “Lower,” he murmured. She shifted and said his name again, a little louder this time.

She liked loud. He wanted her loud. The creak of his mattress reminded him she also wanted a comfortable position. No problem. He could scratch that itch. He rolled, pulling her onto the bed, not stopping until he had her sprawled all over him, anticipating the slide of skin on skin.

Inexplicable layers of clothes and sheets thwarted the skin-on-skin goal, but the warm weight of her breasts rested against his chest. Her slender thighs straddled his waist, and incredibly soft, incredibly hot flesh kissed his abdomen. She wiggled backward—he couldn’t fathom why—but the move brought the yielding curves of her ass into contact with the straining head of his cock. He groaned his approval, and centered them up a bit.

“Beau.” Even louder now, and slightly breathless.

He tightened his abs, flattened his hand against the small of her back, and pressed her closer.

“Oh, jeez. Beau.”

Toes curled into calves. He slid his free hand up the back of her thigh, raising fabric as he went.

“Beau!”

Chapter Seven

Thanks to the glow of the hall light and the flicker of the TV, Savannah knew the minute Beau woke up. She saw his eyes open, focus on her, and then watched awareness creep into his sleep-dazed face as he took stock of their situation. He had her draped over him with her fleece robe tangled around her legs, one hand splayed across her hips, and the other clamped to her lower back, his rugged abs providing a perfect saddle for a long, hard, and very dirty ride.

A not-so-subtle nudge around back announced at least one part of him was wide awake. Fully. Awake.

He stared at her mouth for what seemed like forever, not moving a muscle, and she stared right back, remembering the power of his kiss—the explosive heat unleashed by the simple contact of lips to lips. Their “no complications” rule was already bent all to hell. If he kissed her right now, it would be completely and irreparably broken. Even knowing this, she couldn’t say whether she hoped he’d pull her closer or ease her away.

The white gauze taped to his forehead caught her attention and made up her mind for her. His injury. The whole reason she was here in the first place. She propped her forearm on his chest and made the peace sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He lowered his chin a degree and looked down at her hand. “I’m usually the one asking that question.”

“Let’s hope you can also answer.”

“Let’s hope.”

Two fingertips traced a meandering pattern down her back all the way to the base of her spine. She shivered, but stayed strong. “I’m afraid I have to insist on a verbal response.”

“Two,” he said, and shifted his hips, managing to dislodge his personal parts from hers in the process. “Do I owe you an apology?”

He couldn’t have looked or sounded less apologetic, with his shadowed jaw, growly voice, and general air of tense, dissatisfied male. She held back a grin.

“No need. After all, we’re engaged.” She crawled off him and settled onto her back on the bed, then double-checked her robe to make sure all the essentials remained covered. They both stared at the ceiling and took a moment to settle.

“Ready to play doctor?”