absolutely heard those.
Hand on his 9mm, he raced down the hall, careful to keep his steps quiet so as not to alert an intruder. He pushed through the guest bedroom door.
And found Jayne standing a hand’s reach away in an otherwise empty room. She jumped back to avoid the swinging door. The sight of her hit him clean in the libido.
His hand fell away from his gun.
An icy-blue nightgown stopped just shy of her knees, lace trim teasing creamy flesh. The pale blue was so close to the color of the gown she’d worn to La Bohème that memorable night it almost knocked his feet out from under him. The silk clung to her curves the way his hands ached to do, the way he’d dreamed of doing every night since she’d walked out on him.
“Is something wrong? I heard you cry out in your sleep and I just needed to be sure you’re all right.” Good enough cover story for why he’d burst into the room.
“Just a nightmare. How cliché, huh?” She thrust her hands in her hair, pushing it back—and stretching the fabric of her nightgown across her breasts. “I cry out. You run to me in my bedroom, afraid something happened to me. I’m still rattled by my bad dream.”
He tore his eyes off the pebbly tightness of her nipples against silk. “God forbid we should ever be cliché.”
She stepped closer, padding slowly on bare feet, her eyes narrowed with a sensual intent he’d seen—and enjoyed—many times in the past.
“Although, Conrad, clichés become clichés because they worked well for a lot of other people. And if we follow the dream cliché to its conclusion, the next step would be for me to throw myself in your arms so we can make love.”
Jayne stopped toe-to-toe with him, still not touching him, and if she did, his control would be shot all to hell. For whatever reason, she was taking charge and seducing him. Except she would be doing so for all the wrong reasons, vulnerable from whatever had frightened her in the dream.
He couldn’t take advantage of her while she was riding the memories of a nightmare. But he also couldn’t leave her in here upset and alone.
Grabbing the door to keep from reaching for her, he stepped back into the hall. “I think we need to get out of this bedroom.”
“Why?” She nibbled her bottom lip.
He swallowed hard. “We need to go. Trust me.”
She laughed softly. “Trust you? That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Fair enough, I deserve that.” He always had liked the way she never pulled punches and found it every bit as arousing now as he had when they lived together. “Or you could just trust me because you’re a nicer person than I am.”
“All right, then.” She placed her hand in his, her soft fingers curling around his.
And holy crap, she leaned in closer to him as they walked down the hall. The light scent of her shampoo teased his nose. The need to haul her into his arms throbbed harder, hotter. Damn it, he was supposed to be protecting her, comforting her. He reined in thoughts fueled by three years of abstinence.
Three. Damn. Years.
Out in the main living area, he guided her to the sectional sofa, wide palm ceiling fans clicking overhead. “Have a seat, and I’ll get us a snack from the kitchen.”
She settled onto the sofa, nestling in a pile of pillows. “Just some water, please.”
That would give him all of sixty seconds to will back the raging erection. Hell, he could spend an hour creating a five course meal and it wouldn’t be enough time to ease the painful arousal.
He snagged two bottles of water from the stainless-steel refrigerator in a kitchen he’d actually learned to use and returned to the living room. He twisted off a cap and passed her the Evian. “Let’s watch a movie.”
“A movie?”
“I can pipe anything you want in through the satellite.” He opened his bottle. “I’m even open to a chick flick.”
“You want to watch a movie? ” She shifted in the mass of throw pillows, looking so much like a harem girl he
Hand on his 9mm, he raced down the hall, careful to keep his steps quiet so as not to alert an intruder. He pushed through the guest bedroom door.
And found Jayne standing a hand’s reach away in an otherwise empty room. She jumped back to avoid the swinging door. The sight of her hit him clean in the libido.
His hand fell away from his gun.
An icy-blue nightgown stopped just shy of her knees, lace trim teasing creamy flesh. The pale blue was so close to the color of the gown she’d worn to La Bohème that memorable night it almost knocked his feet out from under him. The silk clung to her curves the way his hands ached to do, the way he’d dreamed of doing every night since she’d walked out on him.
“Is something wrong? I heard you cry out in your sleep and I just needed to be sure you’re all right.” Good enough cover story for why he’d burst into the room.
“Just a nightmare. How cliché, huh?” She thrust her hands in her hair, pushing it back—and stretching the fabric of her nightgown across her breasts. “I cry out. You run to me in my bedroom, afraid something happened to me. I’m still rattled by my bad dream.”
He tore his eyes off the pebbly tightness of her nipples against silk. “God forbid we should ever be cliché.”
She stepped closer, padding slowly on bare feet, her eyes narrowed with a sensual intent he’d seen—and enjoyed—many times in the past.
“Although, Conrad, clichés become clichés because they worked well for a lot of other people. And if we follow the dream cliché to its conclusion, the next step would be for me to throw myself in your arms so we can make love.”
Jayne stopped toe-to-toe with him, still not touching him, and if she did, his control would be shot all to hell. For whatever reason, she was taking charge and seducing him. Except she would be doing so for all the wrong reasons, vulnerable from whatever had frightened her in the dream.
He couldn’t take advantage of her while she was riding the memories of a nightmare. But he also couldn’t leave her in here upset and alone.
Grabbing the door to keep from reaching for her, he stepped back into the hall. “I think we need to get out of this bedroom.”
“Why?” She nibbled her bottom lip.
He swallowed hard. “We need to go. Trust me.”
She laughed softly. “Trust you? That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Fair enough, I deserve that.” He always had liked the way she never pulled punches and found it every bit as arousing now as he had when they lived together. “Or you could just trust me because you’re a nicer person than I am.”
“All right, then.” She placed her hand in his, her soft fingers curling around his.
And holy crap, she leaned in closer to him as they walked down the hall. The light scent of her shampoo teased his nose. The need to haul her into his arms throbbed harder, hotter. Damn it, he was supposed to be protecting her, comforting her. He reined in thoughts fueled by three years of abstinence.
Three. Damn. Years.
Out in the main living area, he guided her to the sectional sofa, wide palm ceiling fans clicking overhead. “Have a seat, and I’ll get us a snack from the kitchen.”
She settled onto the sofa, nestling in a pile of pillows. “Just some water, please.”
That would give him all of sixty seconds to will back the raging erection. Hell, he could spend an hour creating a five course meal and it wouldn’t be enough time to ease the painful arousal.
He snagged two bottles of water from the stainless-steel refrigerator in a kitchen he’d actually learned to use and returned to the living room. He twisted off a cap and passed her the Evian. “Let’s watch a movie.”
“A movie?”
“I can pipe anything you want in through the satellite.” He opened his bottle. “I’m even open to a chick flick.”
“You want to watch a movie? ” She shifted in the mass of throw pillows, looking so much like a harem girl he
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