Curbing the impulses dunning him, he stood up, lifting her with him, and carried her to the end of the sofa, where he lowered them both onto the mattress. He sat with his back against the armrest of the sofa, his feet stretched toward the fire, Lilly on his lap.

He guided her head back to his chest, where she rested her cheek. He reached for one of the blankets and pulled it over them, then hugged her close and propped his chin on the crown of her head.

To all this, she acquiesced. He didn’t deceive himself into thinking she played the lamb because she trusted him. He’d seen the message she had scratched into the wood of the kitchen cabinet. She was allowing him to hold her only because the trauma she’d suffered had exhausted her.

Long after she fell asleep, he stared into the flames and savored the delight as well as the misery of having her this close, of the soft weight of her breast resting on his stomach. Occasionally her fingers curled into the wool weave of his sweater. He wanted to believe she was reassuring herself that he was still there, although it might have been simply a reflexive motion of agitation, subconscious unrest.

He tried not to think about how silkily her tongue had moved against his when he kissed her last night, or the twin delicacies that wet spandex had made of her breasts in the cold waters of the river that day last summer, or how badly he wanted to possess her, completely.

But of course in his effort not to think about those things, they were all he could think about. His skin hunger for her became so acute that he ultimately yielded to it and slipped one hand beneath her sweater.

Then he slept.

• • •

She came awake within the circle of his arms, sensing immediately that he was awake. She sat up but, embarrassed, kept her head averted.

“The fire needs stoking,” was all he said.

With as much grace as possible, she climbed off him and sat back on her heels. He had to use the armrest to lever himself up. She noticed his grimace and remarked on it.

“I’m a bit banged up.”

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” she said. “It couldn’t have been comfortable for you.”

“I slept, too, and woke up only a few minutes ago.”

“How long did we sleep?”

He checked his wristwatch. “Four hours.”

Four hours! Four hours? How had she been able to sleep that peacefully for that long in the arms of a man she believed was Blue? Her near-death experience must have radically muddled her thinking.

He looked her over from head to foot. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Better than I would have thought, consider

ing the severity of the episode.” She paused, then said softly, “I didn’t thank you.”

“Yes you did.”

“No. I had an emotional breakdown and crying jag.”

“I got the message.”

“But I didn’t put it into words, and I should. Thank you, Tierney.”

“You’re welcome.” Seconds ticked by before he turned away and walked toward the bar stool where he’d left his coat.

“Your limp is worse.”

“Yeah, I sprained my ankle on the way to the car. I was lucky not to have broken it.”

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t see where I was going and . . .” He made a gesture that said it didn’t matter how he’d injured himself. “It’ll be okay.”

“Was that under the dash, as we thought?” she asked, indicating the silk pouch on the coffee table.

Tags: Sandra Brown Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net