Deep Breath by Alison Kent Page B

didn’t touch her at all. The first move, whatever it ended up being, wasn’t his to make.
    He bunched the pillow beneath his head with one arm and stared at her while she stared straight up, as tense as any slick-sleeve new recruit who’d just been dressed down by his drill sergeant.
    When several minutes later she said, “I don’t know if this is any better or not,” he had to laugh.
    “As long as you’re warm and you can get some sleep, then it’s better.”
    She shivered, the vibrating tremor reminding him of how nervous she’d been before the preview reception, reminding him of the scent of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the way she’d come in his hand.
    He closed his eyes, pushed aside the thoughts, and tried to catch forty winks. He’d learned a long time ago to grab his sleep when and where he could, never knowing when he’d get a chance to grab more.
    He relaxed. It was all good. Except the minute he felt himself dozing, drifting, he also felt Georgia move over to his side of the bed.
    He stayed where he was; if he’d been underneath the sheet, he wasn’t sure he would have managed. And even with the barrier between them and the promise he’d made, he was tempted to wrap her up in his arms.
    It was especially hard to stick to his position when she shifted, scooting up so that her head was nearer the headboard than his. That put his face scant inches from the crook of her neck. She smelled so damn good.
    “Harry?”
    His eyes opened at her whisper. “Georgia?”
    “I know we agreed on no skin-to-skin contact, but I’d like it if you held me. You know. With the sheet between? Just your arm around my waist or something?”
    Or something?
    He groaned. He had no problem draping his arm over her and settling it into that curve, but something sounded so much better. Because, sheet or not?
    Her waist was halfway between the good stuff upstairs and the good stuff down. And her face was so close that he could smell her toothpaste, a hint of soap and shampoo.
    But he wanted more than anything to ease her distress, and so he hooked his arm around her and pulled her close. And he went ahead and kissed the slope of her shoulder above the strap of her tank top, breathing her in and growing hard.
    “Better?” he asked once he’d calmed himself enough to speak.
    “It is. I’m sorry. I thought I’d be okay by myself.” She tried to laugh, but the sound was a tortured sort of bark. “I mean, I am okay by myself. All the time. I don’t know why today should be any different.”
    That one was easy. “Maybe because today was different. Because yesterday was different. How many nights in your life have you spent behind bars?”
    “Just that one, thank goodness. If not for Finn…” She begin to shake. Not the tiny quivers of earlier, but full-bodied tremors.
    He tightened his hold, soothed her with quiet shushing sounds, with the stroke of his hand up and down her rib cage, with his lips against the side of her neck. “He’ll be fine. He’s a big boy.”
    “He’s always there for me. Always,” she said with a hiccupping sob, one that turned into a desperate cackle. “I’ve been so obsessed with finding this dossier because it’s what my father wanted that I’ve completely taken advantage of Finn. Not to mention taken him for granted. He never even complains. He just comes when I call.”
    “Then I doubt he feels taken advantage of. He’d let you know if he did.”
    She seemed to let that sink in, then asked, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
    “None.” He’d been a spoiled rotten only son with the best parents a kid could wish for. “But I work with a group of guys who are the closest thing I’ve ever had. And I can guarantee not a one of them would hesitate to tell me if I was using and abusing.”
    “Yeah, but you didn’t grow up with them,” she said, chuckling softly, her angst melting. “You didn’t fight with them over who washed the dishes and who dried, or who got to use