the mattress…the feel of him moving above her, inside of her…
Whoa!
She slammed the door on those memories and dropped the towel, scrambling into her P.J.s as quickly as her painfully stiff body would allow. After zipping her suitcase up, she dragged it off the bed and clambered beneath the covers. Cuddles crept up the mattress to curl against her left side.
Yeah, she’d just rest for a minute and let the pain meds kick in. There was plenty of time before Cuddles’s second insulin shot was due.
The fallacy with that plan became immediately apparent. She turned her head, took a deep breath, and got a lungful of Lucas. Or at least his scent, that soapy, lightly musky scent she instantly identified as his. Her body melted, softening and moistening in preparation for something that was not going to happen. Never going to happen again. Ever.
Although…she stretched, her muscles suddenly limber and light. Her skinned hands and knees stopped stinging. Even the throbbing in her knees faded into the distance, something sensed more than felt.
She stretched again, a lazy haze falling over her. Lucas really should bottle his scent as a painkiller.
Chapter Seven
L ucas heaved his end of Emma’s shredded couch onto the tailgate of Mooch’s pickup and headed back to give Tag a hand with the rear end of the load. Together, they drove the sofa through the mounds of splintered, broken or crushed objects that they’d dragged from Emma’s home.
“What’s up with you and Em?” Tag shot a shrewd glance in Lucas’s direction. “There’s less ice in the Lambert Glacier.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Although the cold front wasn’t coming from him. Lucas grimaced, pushing back from the hot red metal of Mooch’s truck. “Just a misunderstanding.”
Not that there was any chance of misinterpreting her reaction to his explanation. She’d made her disapproval crystal clear. And loud. Megaphone loud.
He’d backed off, giving her time to calm down. But after half an hour of silence, he checked in on her. She could have fallen asleep in the tub. Or found herself grounded in the water, unable to gain her feet and too prideful to call for help. Instead, he’d found her fast asleep in his bed.
The sight of her curled beneath his blankets, her face cuddling his pillow, had brought instant satisfaction, along with soul-deep possessiveness. She belonged there: in his bed, beneath his protection. The only thing that would have made the moment sweeter was if he’d been lying there beside her, holding her warm, soft, weight in his arms.
“So you arranged this clean up detail to make amends?” Tag asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Because bro, I don’t think it’s working.”
Lucas offered his roommate a tight smile of acknowledgement, doing his best to stomp down the lingering frustration.
Tag was right. His cleanup crew hadn’t smoothed the icy waters. But then, he hadn’t rounded the guys up to kiss her ass. He’d planned the clean-up party right after Rio had told him about the break in and the mess the bastards had made of her house—hours before her combustible reaction the night before. Besides, he had nothing to make amends for. He’d done what he’d thought best at the time. Okay, so maybe currently he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right call. But three months ago, he’d acted with the best of intentions.
He stepped back from the tailgate, pausing to arch his back. At Tag’s raised eyebrows he grunted in disgust. “Apparently my back takes exception to sleeping on the couch. But a rickety cot, or the burning sand, or a rock ledge in the damn Aladagh Mountains—fuck—bedding down there is just fine.”
Most of his spine’s current bitchiness could be attributed to the tossing and turning he’d done the night before. He hadn’t slept worth shit. Yeah, the couch had pretty much gutted the possibility of shut-eye—but not for the reason he’d given Tag. The damn
Whoa!
She slammed the door on those memories and dropped the towel, scrambling into her P.J.s as quickly as her painfully stiff body would allow. After zipping her suitcase up, she dragged it off the bed and clambered beneath the covers. Cuddles crept up the mattress to curl against her left side.
Yeah, she’d just rest for a minute and let the pain meds kick in. There was plenty of time before Cuddles’s second insulin shot was due.
The fallacy with that plan became immediately apparent. She turned her head, took a deep breath, and got a lungful of Lucas. Or at least his scent, that soapy, lightly musky scent she instantly identified as his. Her body melted, softening and moistening in preparation for something that was not going to happen. Never going to happen again. Ever.
Although…she stretched, her muscles suddenly limber and light. Her skinned hands and knees stopped stinging. Even the throbbing in her knees faded into the distance, something sensed more than felt.
She stretched again, a lazy haze falling over her. Lucas really should bottle his scent as a painkiller.
Chapter Seven
L ucas heaved his end of Emma’s shredded couch onto the tailgate of Mooch’s pickup and headed back to give Tag a hand with the rear end of the load. Together, they drove the sofa through the mounds of splintered, broken or crushed objects that they’d dragged from Emma’s home.
“What’s up with you and Em?” Tag shot a shrewd glance in Lucas’s direction. “There’s less ice in the Lambert Glacier.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Although the cold front wasn’t coming from him. Lucas grimaced, pushing back from the hot red metal of Mooch’s truck. “Just a misunderstanding.”
Not that there was any chance of misinterpreting her reaction to his explanation. She’d made her disapproval crystal clear. And loud. Megaphone loud.
He’d backed off, giving her time to calm down. But after half an hour of silence, he checked in on her. She could have fallen asleep in the tub. Or found herself grounded in the water, unable to gain her feet and too prideful to call for help. Instead, he’d found her fast asleep in his bed.
The sight of her curled beneath his blankets, her face cuddling his pillow, had brought instant satisfaction, along with soul-deep possessiveness. She belonged there: in his bed, beneath his protection. The only thing that would have made the moment sweeter was if he’d been lying there beside her, holding her warm, soft, weight in his arms.
“So you arranged this clean up detail to make amends?” Tag asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Because bro, I don’t think it’s working.”
Lucas offered his roommate a tight smile of acknowledgement, doing his best to stomp down the lingering frustration.
Tag was right. His cleanup crew hadn’t smoothed the icy waters. But then, he hadn’t rounded the guys up to kiss her ass. He’d planned the clean-up party right after Rio had told him about the break in and the mess the bastards had made of her house—hours before her combustible reaction the night before. Besides, he had nothing to make amends for. He’d done what he’d thought best at the time. Okay, so maybe currently he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right call. But three months ago, he’d acted with the best of intentions.
He stepped back from the tailgate, pausing to arch his back. At Tag’s raised eyebrows he grunted in disgust. “Apparently my back takes exception to sleeping on the couch. But a rickety cot, or the burning sand, or a rock ledge in the damn Aladagh Mountains—fuck—bedding down there is just fine.”
Most of his spine’s current bitchiness could be attributed to the tossing and turning he’d done the night before. He hadn’t slept worth shit. Yeah, the couch had pretty much gutted the possibility of shut-eye—but not for the reason he’d given Tag. The damn
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