was a nightgown. Of sorts. The bodice was all peek-a-boo lace in a midnight blue color, while the skirt of the gown was in a matching silken fabric—what little there was of it. Jessica must have thrown it in. Oh , no. No way. She could not wear that in front of Ryan. It was too sexy. Too...revealing. Too obvious. She stuffed it back in the drawer and rifled through the garments until she found what she was looking for. Ah. Much better . She pulled out her black Betty Boop boxer shorts with matching racer-back cami. Cute and concealing. Just like her.
The water in the bathroom stopped, spurring her into action. Twisting her body this way and that, she finally managed to unzip her gown and wriggle out of it. She stripped out of her underwear, kicking panties and bra off to the side before almost skipping into her pajamas. She hurried over to the dressing table and smothered her face in make-up removal cream before grabbing tissues and wiping the mess off her face. Her eyes stung and teared up as she got some of the product in her eyes. She threw the tissues in the trashcan underneath the table, and slapped on some night cream—at least she hoped it was night cream. Everything was just a little blurry.
She staggered over to the bed, and tripped again over those bloody shoes. Clutching her toe and hopping, she finally fell back onto the massive bed. She rolled over and over until she made it across the diagonal and could pull the edge of the covers back. She jackknifed so that she could slide her legs between the expensive, cool cotton sheets and wriggled down. She tugged the top pillow until only her nose remained outside of her linen cocoon.
Crap . She’d left the light on. She threw the covers back and scurried across the width of the bed. She jumped from the bed and ran to the light switch, flicking it off. A lamp on a coffee table in the living area gave a golden glow over the sofa that Ryan had selected to sleep on. They’d made it up with pillows and blankets upon their return from dinner. She bolted back to the bed. She leaped onto massive mattress—ooh, bouncy—and slid under the covers, tugging them up over her ears just as the bathroom door opened.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Pretend to sleep .
She tried to even her breathing, a hard task when her heart was pounding from the mini-Olympics she’d just run.
She heard him moving about the room, his footsteps padding down the three steps that separated the bedroom area from the living area. Pretend to sleep .
She cracked her eyes open, just a little. Oh , wow . He wore some sort of fitted boxer briefs, and his skin glowed golden in the lamplight. She sighed. He was gorgeous. How was she supposed to get any sleep with him lying just a few yards away? There was no way she’d be able to relax.
He lay on the lounge and pulled the blankets over himself. He punched the pillows a couple of times, and her mouth went dry as she watched his biceps flex. He rolled to his side. Then to his back. Then turned to face the back of the sofa. He sighed. He reminded her of the cartoon where the kitten kneaded the dog’s back before settling down to sleep.
A long arm reached up and turned off the lamp. “Good night, Cassie .”
“Good night, Pete ,” she responded automatically, then squeezed her eyes shut.
Damn. So much for pretending to sleep .
* * *
“Hang on!”
Ryan jerked awake at the cry. He listened for a moment. The sheets rustled on the bed upstairs, as though someone was wrestling with them. He sat up, blinking, trying to peer through the darkness.
“Please, wait. Don’t die.” Vicky’s cry was low and tortured, and Ryan realized she was dreaming. Orla .
“It’s okay,” he whispered through the darkness.
A whimper, followed by a shuddering sigh, had him sitting up on the sofa. More sheet rustling. She sounded like she was fighting the linen.
He flung off his covers and rose, his first steps uncertain. Was she awake yet? He didn’t want to
The water in the bathroom stopped, spurring her into action. Twisting her body this way and that, she finally managed to unzip her gown and wriggle out of it. She stripped out of her underwear, kicking panties and bra off to the side before almost skipping into her pajamas. She hurried over to the dressing table and smothered her face in make-up removal cream before grabbing tissues and wiping the mess off her face. Her eyes stung and teared up as she got some of the product in her eyes. She threw the tissues in the trashcan underneath the table, and slapped on some night cream—at least she hoped it was night cream. Everything was just a little blurry.
She staggered over to the bed, and tripped again over those bloody shoes. Clutching her toe and hopping, she finally fell back onto the massive bed. She rolled over and over until she made it across the diagonal and could pull the edge of the covers back. She jackknifed so that she could slide her legs between the expensive, cool cotton sheets and wriggled down. She tugged the top pillow until only her nose remained outside of her linen cocoon.
Crap . She’d left the light on. She threw the covers back and scurried across the width of the bed. She jumped from the bed and ran to the light switch, flicking it off. A lamp on a coffee table in the living area gave a golden glow over the sofa that Ryan had selected to sleep on. They’d made it up with pillows and blankets upon their return from dinner. She bolted back to the bed. She leaped onto massive mattress—ooh, bouncy—and slid under the covers, tugging them up over her ears just as the bathroom door opened.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Pretend to sleep .
She tried to even her breathing, a hard task when her heart was pounding from the mini-Olympics she’d just run.
She heard him moving about the room, his footsteps padding down the three steps that separated the bedroom area from the living area. Pretend to sleep .
She cracked her eyes open, just a little. Oh , wow . He wore some sort of fitted boxer briefs, and his skin glowed golden in the lamplight. She sighed. He was gorgeous. How was she supposed to get any sleep with him lying just a few yards away? There was no way she’d be able to relax.
He lay on the lounge and pulled the blankets over himself. He punched the pillows a couple of times, and her mouth went dry as she watched his biceps flex. He rolled to his side. Then to his back. Then turned to face the back of the sofa. He sighed. He reminded her of the cartoon where the kitten kneaded the dog’s back before settling down to sleep.
A long arm reached up and turned off the lamp. “Good night, Cassie .”
“Good night, Pete ,” she responded automatically, then squeezed her eyes shut.
Damn. So much for pretending to sleep .
* * *
“Hang on!”
Ryan jerked awake at the cry. He listened for a moment. The sheets rustled on the bed upstairs, as though someone was wrestling with them. He sat up, blinking, trying to peer through the darkness.
“Please, wait. Don’t die.” Vicky’s cry was low and tortured, and Ryan realized she was dreaming. Orla .
“It’s okay,” he whispered through the darkness.
A whimper, followed by a shuddering sigh, had him sitting up on the sofa. More sheet rustling. She sounded like she was fighting the linen.
He flung off his covers and rose, his first steps uncertain. Was she awake yet? He didn’t want to
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