he kept her spitting mad, he’d be able to focus on his job and keep them both safe. Something he had failed to do for her brother.
Shaking off the guilt, he concentrated on his current problem. “I think I could get used to your unique bedside manner.”
Her head popped up, and she scrambled off the bed, taking the blanket with her, but not before he got a good look at her in the dim light coming from the living room. The jersey tank top clinging to her body stopped just above her bellybutton.
I didn’t see that. I won’t remember that. No, no, no — ah hell .
She clasped the blanket around her like a shield. “I was afraid — I mean, you were tossing and turning and I thought you’d pull your stitches,” she said sternly.
Definitely skittish now, and by the sound of her voice a little irritated at being caught in bed with him, but he really needed her ticked-off and stomping mad.
He smiled smugly. “And here I thought it was my irresistible charm.”
The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she placed her fists on her hips. A pose she seemed to favor in his presence. “You are the most arrogant, self-centered, conceited jerk, I’ve ever met.”
He clamped his eyes closed. The way her chest heaved as she railed at him, the way her breasts quivered beneath the thin cotton, and the lacy edge of her panties riding along the smooth curve of her hip, were images permanently imprinted on his brain.
He groaned deeply. Things couldn’t get any worse.
She placed her hand against his forehead.
Wrong, they were worse. If she didn’t stop touching him, he’d go insane. Or grab her and not let go until he made love to her for at least twenty-four hours straight.
Growling, he flung her hand away. “I’m fine.” Was it possible to die from wanting a woman so badly?
“I was just checking.” With a huff, she stomped out of the room.
Didn’t the woman ever walk?
No, don’t think it. You’ll be imagining her walk and the sway of her hips — too late .
With a forlorn moan, he forced his thoughts to something, anything, but her. As he studied the golden shadows dancing across the bedroom ceiling, slowly, very slowly, the burning in the pit of his stomach and the painful ache in his groin subsided.
A dark shadow cut through the light, disrupting his concentration. The shadow paced frantically back and forth.
Good. Mission accomplished. She was thoroughly ticked and would keep away from him now.
The sound of branches scraping against the window pulled his attention from the golden glow. Did she say something about not liking storms? Didn’t Jase once say something about their parents’ death being caused by a storm?
Her stuttered words came back to him. “I was afraid.”
Wonderful. Just perfect. She was afraid of storms and had sought him out for comfort. He didn’t doubt he’d been tossing and turning. Being shot brought his past to life in his dreams.
He shook his head ridding his mind of the raven-haired woman who’d betrayed him. Sylvia was dead and buried. Just like his past. Only Bobbi mattered now. She’d comforted him in his sleep then stayed once his nightmares passed, nestled neatly in the crook of his arm, safe and warm. She needed him and he’d let her down.
But damn it, the woman was driving him crazy!
The wind howled around the cabin and another crack of thunder shook the panes of glass in the window. The shadow on the ceiling jumped and paced more rapidly.
Biting back a litany of curses, he slid his legs out from beneath the covers. “And they say chivalry is dead,” he muttered as he moved to a sitting position. Grabbing the bedspread, he wrapped it around himself.
Was it cold or did he have a fever? Either way, he wasn’t wearing anything, and strolling into the living room stark naked didn’t appeal to him at that
Shaking off the guilt, he concentrated on his current problem. “I think I could get used to your unique bedside manner.”
Her head popped up, and she scrambled off the bed, taking the blanket with her, but not before he got a good look at her in the dim light coming from the living room. The jersey tank top clinging to her body stopped just above her bellybutton.
I didn’t see that. I won’t remember that. No, no, no — ah hell .
She clasped the blanket around her like a shield. “I was afraid — I mean, you were tossing and turning and I thought you’d pull your stitches,” she said sternly.
Definitely skittish now, and by the sound of her voice a little irritated at being caught in bed with him, but he really needed her ticked-off and stomping mad.
He smiled smugly. “And here I thought it was my irresistible charm.”
The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she placed her fists on her hips. A pose she seemed to favor in his presence. “You are the most arrogant, self-centered, conceited jerk, I’ve ever met.”
He clamped his eyes closed. The way her chest heaved as she railed at him, the way her breasts quivered beneath the thin cotton, and the lacy edge of her panties riding along the smooth curve of her hip, were images permanently imprinted on his brain.
He groaned deeply. Things couldn’t get any worse.
She placed her hand against his forehead.
Wrong, they were worse. If she didn’t stop touching him, he’d go insane. Or grab her and not let go until he made love to her for at least twenty-four hours straight.
Growling, he flung her hand away. “I’m fine.” Was it possible to die from wanting a woman so badly?
“I was just checking.” With a huff, she stomped out of the room.
Didn’t the woman ever walk?
No, don’t think it. You’ll be imagining her walk and the sway of her hips — too late .
With a forlorn moan, he forced his thoughts to something, anything, but her. As he studied the golden shadows dancing across the bedroom ceiling, slowly, very slowly, the burning in the pit of his stomach and the painful ache in his groin subsided.
A dark shadow cut through the light, disrupting his concentration. The shadow paced frantically back and forth.
Good. Mission accomplished. She was thoroughly ticked and would keep away from him now.
The sound of branches scraping against the window pulled his attention from the golden glow. Did she say something about not liking storms? Didn’t Jase once say something about their parents’ death being caused by a storm?
Her stuttered words came back to him. “I was afraid.”
Wonderful. Just perfect. She was afraid of storms and had sought him out for comfort. He didn’t doubt he’d been tossing and turning. Being shot brought his past to life in his dreams.
He shook his head ridding his mind of the raven-haired woman who’d betrayed him. Sylvia was dead and buried. Just like his past. Only Bobbi mattered now. She’d comforted him in his sleep then stayed once his nightmares passed, nestled neatly in the crook of his arm, safe and warm. She needed him and he’d let her down.
But damn it, the woman was driving him crazy!
The wind howled around the cabin and another crack of thunder shook the panes of glass in the window. The shadow on the ceiling jumped and paced more rapidly.
Biting back a litany of curses, he slid his legs out from beneath the covers. “And they say chivalry is dead,” he muttered as he moved to a sitting position. Grabbing the bedspread, he wrapped it around himself.
Was it cold or did he have a fever? Either way, he wasn’t wearing anything, and strolling into the living room stark naked didn’t appeal to him at that
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