“EEK!”
He sighed, and rubbed his face again. “Would you turn on the overhead lights? The bedside lamp committed suicide earlier.”
“Sure.” The mattress moved again as she rose. “Next to the door?”
“Yes. Argh.” He blinked at the sudden glare of lights, squinting at the sight of Mercy standing at the door in what had to be the single most erotic-looking piece of nightwear ever created. It appeared to be made of spider’s webs that revealed more than they hid, long, flowing sweeps of it caressing her curves in a way that had his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth.
“Sorry. That is bright.” Mercy rubbed her bare arms, the movement doing wonderful things to her (nearlybare) breasts. “This is going to sound really weird, but would you mind if I spent the night in here?”
She wanted to spend the night with him? Had his letter been taken in a way he hadn’t anticipated?
“Assuming you don’t have mice, that is,” she added.
He blinked at her a couple of times, thought about telling her the rustling in the walls warned that his room might not be as barren of rodents as she would like, but decided he would be downright certifiable to do so. “I don’t mind, no.”
“Oh, good.” Her shoulders slumped a little in relief. She glanced around the room, taking in the scarce amount of furnishings. “Um. You don’t have a big chair or anything I could curl up in?”
“Just the one at the desk, and I took that from the kitchen.” He wondered if her almost-gown would tear if she breathed deeply. He fervently hoped so.
“Oh.” She looked doubtfully at him where he lay propped up on one elbow.
“I believe this is the point where, if we were in a romantic comedy film, you would join me in bed and you’d barricade your side of the bed with a line of pillows.”
She smiled, warming him in ways that would become embarrassing if he didn’t have a thick duvet covering him. “And if we were in a romantic novel, we’d wake up to have ‘accidental’ sex because I would somehow manage to roll myself on top of you while asleep, and we would then both wake up to find ourselves in a compromising position, and so would decide, what the heck? Since we’re lying in woman-on-top position already, why not go ahead and have sex?”
He looked at her, aroused to the point where it was going to be not just embarrassing but painful, andwondered if she was hinting at what he thought she was hinting. He tried to form the words to ask her, but the thought of what she’d say if he misinterpreted kept his tongue tied in verbal knots.
“Well?” she said, tipping her head to the side.
Of course she wasn’t hinting that she wanted to sleep with him. She had just been kind earlier in kissing him, the act meant as a form of therapy. Highly erotic, enjoyable therapy. Nothing more.
“Alden?”
“Hmm?” No, what he needed to do was turn his room over to her, so she could spend the night in mouse-free comfort. He’d offer to take her room, instead, and thus would martyr himself on the altar of chivalry. Dammit, his dressing gown was all the way across the room next to the door to the bathroom. He supposed that if he rose while clutching the duvet to him, he could manage to scuttle crablike to the door, snagging his dressing gown en route.
“Are you going to ask me to join you? Or do you expect me to try to sleep on that kitchen chair?”
He gawked at her, a flat-out gawk. She didn’t just say what he thought he heard. She couldn’t. Could she? He’d better ask, just to be sure. “Erm?”
Her nose wrinkled in puzzlement. “Was that an ‘erm, I’d love for you to climb into this bed in my lovely mouseless room,’ or was that more of a ‘erm, I’m saving myself for the woman who is coming and about whom I’ve been terribly mysterious, and she would not understand if she heard that you spent the night in my bed even though we didn’t do anything naughty’ sort of situation?”
“I don’t... I’m not...” He stammered to a stop,then chastised himself and added immediately, “My brain has apparently ceased working for the night.”
“OK, now I’m really starting to feel vulnerable,” she said, rubbing her arms again, a look of hesitancy replacing her amused teasing expression. “Should I go try to bunk with Fenice? I will do so if you can’t stomach the thought of me sleeping in your bed.”
“No.” He flipped back the duvet, careful to keep it draped over his groin, which at this point was hard and needy and telling him to stop talking and get with the action already. “You don’t need to go sleep with Fenice. I just... I never thought... that is, you don’t seem like...” He stopped, wanting to bang his head on the wall. Why was it he could never say things without them coming out all wrong?
She had hurried over to the bed at his invitation, but paused in the act of crawling between the covers. “I don’t seem like what?”
He stared at her, unable to put into words the thoughts that were rolling around in his beleaguered brain.
She stiffened. “You wouldn’t by any chance have been about to say that I don’t seem like the sort of woman who jumps into bed with a man she’s just met?” She took a deep breath, her eyes burning with an intensity that both aroused and worried him. “There’s a name for women—and men—like that. Tell me you did not just stop yourself from using it.”
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I was just trying to say that no woman has ever wanted to... not on first meeting... oh, hell.”
She crossed her arms, her expression black. “I see.”
“Bloody, bloody, hell. Mercy—”
