He shifts just a little closer. Still, it’s close enough tohave my flipping heart forget more than one beat. His voice pitches low. “Now, tell me the long answer.”
“My mom and dad are real. They’re silly and a little weird, but every part of them is real. It’s not for the show, for the things other people see. They don’t care about that. Dad kisses Mom when he feels the urge, not because he should. Not because she expects it. Mom takes care of Dad because she likes to take care of him, not because he needs it. Even though he does.” I laugh lightly. “Even after all these years together, they’re happy. They’re in love. They’re excited about the life they’ve lived and the life they will live. They dream together every day. They wish on stars and dream about growing old.”
I don’t think his eyes have left my face. Not even once.
I continue, “I want that. I want to be with someone who loves me so much that they can’t wait to dream with me over coffee every morning. Someone who kisses me because they want to, need to. Someone who laughs with me and wishes on stars with me. Someone I can grow with and grow old with. I want to vow my life to someone who will cherish me for all of his. I want to have his babies, and I want to love them with all that I have inside of me. I want to watch them grow and then I want to watch them soar. I want to hold hands in the silence and share words with only our eyes.”
I pause, and whisper, “I want to fall madly in love.So in love with someone that I’ll only ever wear his rings for the rest of my life. And I want to be that for him. I want to be his whole world, because when I give that man my heart, he’ll be my whole world.” A shaky smile curls my lips. “Long enough answer for you?”
“No.” There’s a croak in the thick of that one word. “I could listen to you dream all night long, and it wouldn’t be long enough.”
Speechless. I’m robbed of words.
My heart is too busy fighting the full-scale invasion of this man to give any thought to the wild beating or the breaths that rush from my lungs.
Briggs settles on his back again. To the ceiling he says, “Sweet dreams, little lunatic.”
30
ALL I CAN DO
LILAH
As soon as I slip from the blissful incoherence of the dreamworld, I know that I’m not alone. More, there’s a man wound around me. But not just any man. Briggs. My fake fiancé turned platonic-ish bed partner.
His chest is plastered to my back, his arm not only thrown around me, but tucked around my middle as though to hold me in place against him. As if any woman in my current position would ever even dream of fleeing.
Only, fleeing is exactly what I should be doing. It’s what I would be doing if I were a better woman. But it feels good to be here like this with him. It feels good to be held like this, as though I’m the only thing in this whole world worthy of clutching quite this tightly.
So, I don’t move. I hardly even breathe. I pretend to sleep as I commit this moment to my dreams.
I stay like that for a long while. More than minutes. Soaking in this moment with him.
Then he moves. It’s not a big movement. A shift in sleep, innocent.
And it burns all innocence away, because he’s no longer simply holding me. In his shift, Briggs slipped a knee between my legs, his hips flexing forward into my own. Only, it’s not just his hips. His groin, and the hard length of his cock settle in the crease of my butt.
Warmth surges in my core. Fire spills in my veins.
It’s a miracle I keep my breathing even.
The man moves again, and I bite into my bottom lip to keep a moan from spilling free. It’s still dark outside, so I’m not sure of the time. I’m too afraid to move and look. I’m too afraid to wake him.
Too afraid to face him.
He shifts, and the blunt length of his arousal presses deeper into my bottom before he stills abruptly. My heart is a hammer in my chest as I do my best to keep my breathing slow and steady.
I know he’s come aware of himself when his hand against the bare skin of my belly—beneath my nighty—curls into a tight fist before it flattens once again.
He looses a shaky breath.
It really is a miracle I keep the quiver from giving me away as he brushes the pad of his thumb across my skin. Then he slowly, carefully removes his hand from my nighty. But he doesn’t pull away.
His fingertips are gentle as a whisper as he brushesthe mess of my hair away from my shoulder. I feel his touch right to the tip of my toes. And then I feel the featherlight sweep of his lips against the flesh of my shoulder.
There’s fire inside me, and yet an eruption of goosebumps pebbles my flesh. Every inch of it.
It’s all I can do to fight the shudder that longs to rip free from me. The moan that aches to spill from between my lips.
