He didn’t respond, but even from behind she could tell he wasn’t frowning any longer.
She sighed with relief when he unfolded the T-shirt and put it on. What was wrong with her? Had she hit her head when she was helping the man on the ground? If only... She didn’t think she had, but it would be a great excuse for the indecent thoughts that were suddenly racing through her mind. She had a choice to make. Slide show that would undoubtedly give her nightmares, or erotic thoughts about sex with Michael that would make sleep impossible?
Although she was loath to admit it, Michael was right. She really was a mess. She was still shocked that she had cried. It had been years since she’d last had a good cry. Five, to be exact—when her mother died. Isabel prided herself on being able to keep it together, and she’d succeeded... until tonight. She had really wailed in the shower. She was certain Michael hadn’t heard her because he would have said something if he had. Only a sensitive man would have pretended he hadn’t heard her crying, and Michael wasn’t the least bit sensitive. Still, it was mortifying, losing control like that.
“It’s late and I’ve been up since dawn,” Michael said. He stood at the foot of the bed. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”
“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep,” she said. “I’m too revved up. Will it bother you if I keep the television on?”
“No, I can sleep through anything.” He looked over his shoulder at the chair, then the bed again. “If it’s okay, I’m going to sleep in the bed with you. I’ll sleep on top of the covers; you sleep under.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Sure it is. We’ll both get a good night’s sleep.”
Before she could come up with a polite way to tell him absolutely not, he turned off the light, stretched out on top of the covers, stacked his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes. She could have sworn he fell asleep seconds later.
At least now she knew that, of the two of them, she was the only one plagued with lustful thoughts. He obviously didn’t think about her the same way. He was quite blasé about sleeping with her. Her libido took a nosedive.
Too late, Michael realized getting in bed with her was a mistake. He told himself he had enough discipline to get through anything—even the night with a beautiful woman. Damn, she smelled good. He tried to block the images rushing through his mind, all involving Isabel, of course. In every one of them he was taking her clothes off. Yeah, big mistake. He should move to the chair or sleep on the floor. That’s what he should do. But what he did do was stay right where he was. He could reach out and pull her to him. He blocked that thought, too.
Isabel turned the television off and hoped she could quiet her mind in the dark. She pulled the blanket up to her chin. The room seemed to be getting colder. She vowed she would think about only pleasant things until sleep took over.
It was a stupid plan. She came to that conclusion after ten minutes of trying to come up with a pleasant memory. The man she’d shot kept getting in her way. What she needed was another plan. She had too much energy to sleep now. Then it came to her. She would get dressed, go up to the fitness center, and get on the treadmill. She would run until she dropped.
As quietly as possible, she pushed the covers back, sat up, and tried to stand. Michael stopped her. And oh, was he quick. Before she could blink, he had his hands on her hips, holding her still.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a sleepy whisper.
“I’m going to get dressed and go upstairs to the fitness center.”
“You want to work out?” He was slowly pulling her toward him.
He had to think she was crazy, and she couldn’t blame him. Who in their right mind would work out in the middle of the night? She put her hands on top of his and tried to push him away so she could get up.
“Your hands are freezing,” he said.
“It’s cold in here.”
Michael didn’t think it was cold at all. “You’re shivering.”
He made it sound like an accusation. “Yes.”
“I can fix that.”
He rolled to his side and pulled her down next to him. Her backside was pressed against his groin, the backs of her thighs were plastered to his, and her arms were crossed over her chest with his arms wrapped tightly around her, hugging her to him. All of a sudden she was toasty warm. The heat radiating from him felt wonderful.
“This is all wrong,” she said. Yawning, she whispered, “You don’t have to stay. I’m okay now. You can leave.”
Another long yawn and she was gone.