—Sam
Damn. Aw, damn. At some point, Sam, and maybe Ben too, had come in here . . . and found Slider and Cora totally entwined. As they still were.
Cora lay with her head on Slider’s shoulder, her arm across his chest, her thigh across his. And his arm was around her shoulders, holding her to him, his face pressed to her forehead. Sure, the blankets had covered most of that, but no doubt his kids had seen enough to raise an eyebrow of curiosity.
But at least Cora’s fever didn’t seem as bad this morning. No more than a hundred, if Slider had to guess. But he wasn’t waking her up to find out, and holding her like this wasn’t something he was going to be able to do again. So he let himself enjoy the feel of her while he could, relaxed against the pillow again, and drifted off with her in his arms.
Cora didn’t want to wake up. She was warm and comfortable, and that seemed miraculous after being freezing and achy all night long. But finally, her eyelids blinked open against her will, and then she really didn’t want to move.
Because she was lying on Slider, touching him from face to toes, in his bed. And he was holding her, too.
In that moment, Cora wished more than anything that they were like this because they were together, rather than just because he’d taken pity on her for being sick. She’d always had some fondness for Slider, even in his most withdrawn version, but the past couple weeks, she’d felt like she was finally getting to know him. She’d seen more of his sweetness toward his sons. She’d witnessed his vulnerable side when Ben got hurt and when he’d admitted he needed her help. And she’d certainly found him to be thoughtful in preparing such a wonderful welcome for her coming to live at his house.
He’d given her a few glimpses of his sense of humor—and proved he could sling some highly effective sarcasm. She still couldn’t decide whether to chuckle or groan at his calling her out for using humor as a defense mechanism. It had been as annoyingly observant as it had been accurate. And she kinda wanted to get T-shirts made that read Talkative Slider and Humor as a Diversionary Tactic Cora. Or maybe dolls. Perhaps she’d add to the line, Tall, Dark, and Scary Dare; Can Do Anything To and On a Bike Maverick; and Cute but Seriously Annoying Phoenix. She could make a million. Annnd this train of thought proved she still probably had a fever . . .
Cora sighed. If all that wasn’t enough, that wasn’t even taking into consideration the way Slider had taken care of her last night. Or the way he was holding her now.
And that was when she realized she liked Slider Evans. Liked liked him. And she had no idea what the hell she was going to do about that.
“Hey, Cora,” he said, his gravelly morning voice so damn sexy.
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. She wondered if she should get off him, but didn’t really want to.
Not making any move to get up, Slider just looked down at her. “How you feeling?”
“A lot better,” she said, hyperaware that her hand was lying on his chest. His heartbeat faintly registered against her palm. “Still achy and a little off, but better.”
“Good. You should probably take it easy today, though. Whatever that was isn’t likely out of your system yet.”
She nodded. “I will.”
Talking like this, their faces so close, felt so damn intimate that Cora could almost imagine that nothing existed outside of Slider’s bed. She almost didn’t want it to. Especially when his arm squeezed a little tighter around her shoulders and brought them just a little closer. Cora shifted into his embrace, pressing her chest totally flush against his side, and sliding her thigh up until—
Oh, hell. Until she felt the part of him she’d accidentally seen. And it was hard.
He sucked in a breath, and his hand clamped around her thigh. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She placed her fingers loosely over his mouth. She didn’t want him to apologize. Or explain it away. Or push her away.
Cora knew she shouldn’t want the things she did, but that didn’t make her desires go away. It felt good to want Slider, it made her feel normal, even if she was a little nervous. After what her father had done, that seemed like a victory she didn’t want to relinquish.
And, oh, now that she was touching his face, she really didn’t want to stop. His lips were full and soft under her fingers, his stubble was more ticklish than prickly, and his cheekbones were prominent under his skin.
He licked his lips, and her gaze latched on to the movement.