to stay alive.
Sonnie’s eyelids flickered. She didn’t want to open them. As long as they were closed she could pretend—to herself and to the man whose presence beside her she felt—that she still slept and yes, she had a reason not to face another day quite yet.
Presence?
His very large hand covered her left breast beneath her pajama top.
A heavy, relaxed hand that probably felt nothing.
Sonnie felt so much that she fought against the cry that rose to her lips. Her heart beat fast and hard enough that it ought to wake him. She opened her eyes and looked down at Chris Talon. His face was turned toward her. Not a face a woman was likely to forget, even a woman who thought she’d never feel anything for a man again. She felt all right, and the sensation was definitely sexual. His other hand rested on her injured hip.
She liked the warmth that spread from his flesh into hers.
He slept like...like a man watching over a woman he cared about. Like a man trying to infuse his very life and strength into that woman.
Sonnie closed her eyes again. Loneliness and need and desperation could brew up a fine concoction of lies, of lovely imaginary foolishness. But she would forgive herself for her longing.
Very carefully, watching through narrowly slitted eyelids, she settled a hand on the side of his face, his ear. The tips of her fingers met his curly black hair and she was glad he didn’t cut it short. She was careful to allow her hand to be as limp as his.
So there they were. And for as long as it took him to break from sleep, she would pretend she slept also.
Despite flamboyant bones that flared at his cheek and jaw and swept straight down his nose, except for the slight evidence of an old break, despite all that, his face was slender. Like a voyeur, Sonnie peered at his dark, arched brow, and at his mouth.
A mouth that must have kissed so many women.
She shut her eyes again. He would never kiss her. He wouldn’t be touching her so intimately now if he knew what he was doing.
She didn’t need him as a lover.
Just the word heated every inch of her skin.
She needed his help to prove whether she was right or wrong in thinking that out there, almost within the reach of her struggling mind, was a truth that would set her free. First it would make her heart as crippled as her body, but in the end it would set her free.
Chris Talon was going to do what she wanted him to do...Why him rather than someone else? Because she felt connected to him. The more he protested that he didn’t want to work for her, with her, the more she felt him struggle with the reverse conviction. And she believed what Roy said: Chris was a good man who had had some bad breaks, and he needed her as much as she needed him.
She would find out what had broken the man, what had brought him low enough to call himself washed-up. Then maybe, just maybe, and only as a friend, she could return the favor and help him.
If she asked Roy to do it, he’d kick Chris out of his little hideaway and then she’d...No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t. But she hadn’t given up on getting him tο stay here with her. After all, his virtue wouldn’t be compromised.
She smiled and gritted her teeth. Her nipple became erect against his palm, and a sharp, aching reaction traveled its natural path. A moment, and then she wanted to press his other hand between her legs.
Sonnie thought about Frank, her husband. Until she heard otherwise she was married to him. Thoughts and feelings couldn’t always be controlled. Actions should be.
His hand convulsed on her breast. He squeezed, then held still.
Sonnie dared another peek at him.
Sleepy hazel eyes blinked. That one visible brow shot down in a frown. He looked sideways at her slack wrist, then toward his hand on her breast, then upward. She made sure her own eyes were closed and that she breathed gently and evenly.
She thought he murmured, “Geez,” but he didn’t make any sudden moves.
They remained where they
Sonnie’s eyelids flickered. She didn’t want to open them. As long as they were closed she could pretend—to herself and to the man whose presence beside her she felt—that she still slept and yes, she had a reason not to face another day quite yet.
Presence?
His very large hand covered her left breast beneath her pajama top.
A heavy, relaxed hand that probably felt nothing.
Sonnie felt so much that she fought against the cry that rose to her lips. Her heart beat fast and hard enough that it ought to wake him. She opened her eyes and looked down at Chris Talon. His face was turned toward her. Not a face a woman was likely to forget, even a woman who thought she’d never feel anything for a man again. She felt all right, and the sensation was definitely sexual. His other hand rested on her injured hip.
She liked the warmth that spread from his flesh into hers.
He slept like...like a man watching over a woman he cared about. Like a man trying to infuse his very life and strength into that woman.
Sonnie closed her eyes again. Loneliness and need and desperation could brew up a fine concoction of lies, of lovely imaginary foolishness. But she would forgive herself for her longing.
Very carefully, watching through narrowly slitted eyelids, she settled a hand on the side of his face, his ear. The tips of her fingers met his curly black hair and she was glad he didn’t cut it short. She was careful to allow her hand to be as limp as his.
So there they were. And for as long as it took him to break from sleep, she would pretend she slept also.
Despite flamboyant bones that flared at his cheek and jaw and swept straight down his nose, except for the slight evidence of an old break, despite all that, his face was slender. Like a voyeur, Sonnie peered at his dark, arched brow, and at his mouth.
A mouth that must have kissed so many women.
She shut her eyes again. He would never kiss her. He wouldn’t be touching her so intimately now if he knew what he was doing.
She didn’t need him as a lover.
Just the word heated every inch of her skin.
She needed his help to prove whether she was right or wrong in thinking that out there, almost within the reach of her struggling mind, was a truth that would set her free. First it would make her heart as crippled as her body, but in the end it would set her free.
Chris Talon was going to do what she wanted him to do...Why him rather than someone else? Because she felt connected to him. The more he protested that he didn’t want to work for her, with her, the more she felt him struggle with the reverse conviction. And she believed what Roy said: Chris was a good man who had had some bad breaks, and he needed her as much as she needed him.
She would find out what had broken the man, what had brought him low enough to call himself washed-up. Then maybe, just maybe, and only as a friend, she could return the favor and help him.
If she asked Roy to do it, he’d kick Chris out of his little hideaway and then she’d...No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t. But she hadn’t given up on getting him tο stay here with her. After all, his virtue wouldn’t be compromised.
She smiled and gritted her teeth. Her nipple became erect against his palm, and a sharp, aching reaction traveled its natural path. A moment, and then she wanted to press his other hand between her legs.
Sonnie thought about Frank, her husband. Until she heard otherwise she was married to him. Thoughts and feelings couldn’t always be controlled. Actions should be.
His hand convulsed on her breast. He squeezed, then held still.
Sonnie dared another peek at him.
Sleepy hazel eyes blinked. That one visible brow shot down in a frown. He looked sideways at her slack wrist, then toward his hand on her breast, then upward. She made sure her own eyes were closed and that she breathed gently and evenly.
She thought he murmured, “Geez,” but he didn’t make any sudden moves.
They remained where they
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