Finding Him (Covet 2)

I exhaled slowly and told myself not to react.

She was sleeping.

I wanted her close.

It meant nothing.

She’d brought cookies.

End of story.

I was afraid to move too much, but I wanted to check the time. It was even darker now, meaning we would have company soon, invited company that I wanted to send packing.

I turned my head slightly as Keaton clung tighter to me.

I felt a pull so strong that it made my chest tight, a pull to her. Something tethered us, and I had no idea what it was. Maybe it was just the pain we both carried around us like a protective armor, but I had to wonder if my tumultuous emotions were anything like Bridge’s when he stole what was mine.

When he lay next to my fiancée and kissed her mouth.

Did the guilt rival that pull?

It would have had to.

Because I felt like I was in a situation I couldn’t win. I couldn’t compete with a guy who was dead—I knew I wouldn’t win against him, that I didn’t stand a chance, and yet the feeling was still there.

And it was taking every ounce of control I had not to act on it, throw caution to the wind, and lie to myself and her that it would just be scratching an itch, getting it out of our systems.

I highly doubted she was someone you ever got over.

Once Keaton was in you . . .

You were damned.

I would drown in her and never be the same. I was already struggling with leaving her, with walking in the opposite direction while she finished her book, returned to her family and friends, her life.

While I returned to an empty apartment.

My expensive cars.

Lavish lifestyle.

And absolutely nobody to share it with.

Keaton made a noise. I opened my mouth to ask her if she was okay when she nuzzled my neck again.

Damn it, I wasn’t a saint.

Never claimed to be.

Izzy and Bridge could easily attest to that.

I gritted my teeth while she moaned in her sleep, and tried to think about anything but the fact that her soft body was rubbing up against mine.

Be a gentleman.

Keep your clothes on.

I clutched the sheet with my left hand and squeezed my eyes shut while a leg made its way over my body, pinning me to the bed.

I was going to die in a pool of my own sweat and good intentions, wasn’t I? She made another little noise of contentment.

Glad one of us was happy and not dying a slow, sweaty death.

I tried moving away from her, slowly peeling my body from hers, but her leg hooked itself around me, and the last thing I wanted to do was wake her up. She would be embarrassed, and then she would see I was uncomfortable in more ways than one and she’d probably slap me.

I would deserve it.

Not that it mattered.

Just when I was ready to move my arm again, or attempt to, she jerked away and lifted her head, nearly knocking it against mine.

I cursed. “Who the hell wakes up like that?”

She squinted her eyes. “Why are you watching me sleep?”

“I wasn’t!” I said defensively. “I was sleeping and woke up being suffocated by your body and was trying to escape.”

“Escape?” She frowned and then looked down. “Oh, sorry, I’m an extremely violent sleeper.”

“And you don’t think that would have been a good thing to lead with when I asked you to lie down?”

Her eyes narrowed, she looked fierce and cute all at once. Damn it. “I was doing you a favor!”

“Why are you yelling?”

“I don’t know!” She pouted. “I was having a really good dream.”

I shot her a smug grin. “What kind of dream? You were doing an awful lot of moaning . . .”

She scowled. “It wasn’t . . . not like, I mean there was no sex, just . . . touching.”

“Who was touching you?”

“Nobody,” she snapped.

I grinned so wide my face hurt. “Princess, were you dreaming about me?”

“You wish.”

“Good comeback.”

Another scowl. “Dreams are merely the brain’s way of processing the things that happen to us throughout the day. You kissed me, and apparently my brain needed to sort that into a box that made sense.”

“Hmm, where did your brain put me? Because if I’m not in the best-kiss-of-my-life box, I’m going to have to ask for a second opinion.”

She laughed at that. “You have an extremely high opinion of your own kissing skills.”

“A well-earned high opinion,” I added helpfully, not realizing I was reaching for her until it was too late, until my fingertips were stroking her hair and tucking it behind her ear, until I noticed her light gasp at my touch and the way she focused on my mouth like I was tastier than the cookies on the nightstand. “You can’t look at me like that, princess, I’m not known for my extreme self-control . . .”