It’s probably for the best. I don’t think I can handle anything that might crack open the tension simmering between us right now. Not when we’re trapped together. But all my effort doesn’t get me very far. I feel his eyes on me. I feel the weight of everything we're not saying.
The lights go out around nine. The wind howls like something wounded. And when a crack of thunder shakes the whole house, I jump hard enough that Griffin reaches for me instinctively.
His hand lands on my arm. It’s warm and steady. It threatens to break every wall I’ve built. I pull away too fast.No, he’s not going to do this to me. I’m an adult. I can be around him just like anyone else.I pull my shoulders back.
"We should sleep," I say. "Conserve the candles."
"Right, I can take the couch." His voice is careful.
"Don't be ridiculous. Your knee can't handle the couch." I force my voice to stay even. "We're adults. We can share a bed without it meaning anything."
Griffin nods slowly. The look he gives me says he doesn't believe that, but he should. I mean it. I can do this for myself.Thisis growth. Besides, I don’t feel like freezing to death tonight so I pretty much don’t have a choice.
We head to bed when the candles start burning low.
He gives me a t-shirt to sleep in. It’s one of his old practice jerseys. I change in the bathroom and try not to think about all the times I wore his clothes before. The fabric is soft and worn, and it smells like him. I press it to my nose and inhale deeply, feeling pathetic and not caring.
I’m not wearing anything underneath. I didn’t exactly pack an overnight bag for a hurricane. But that’s his problem, not mine. I’m fine.
Get a grip, Hartwell.
When I finally emerge, he’s already in bed, carefully positioned on the left side. The sheets are pulled up to his waist, but his chest is bare. Candlelight flickers across his skin. It casts shadows in the hollows of his muscles. He looks like something carved from bronze. Something I want to lick.No. Something I should definitely not want to lick.
His eyes track down my body. The jersey hits mid-thigh and my legs are bare. I watch his jaw clench and it serves him right. Then his gaze snags on my chest, where my nipples are already pebbled against the thin fabric. He notices. His hands curl into fists against the mattress.
“Get on your side,” I say firmly, pointing to his half of the mattress. My voice comes out breathier than I’d like.
“Yes ma’am.”
The bed dips with his weight. Even with two feet of mattress between us, I can feel him. The pull of him. The gravity of wanting.
I shoot him a look as I climb in and keep as much distance between us as the king-size bed allows. I’m hyperaware of every inch of space between us. I notice the rustle of sheets, the sound of his breathing, and the warmth radiating from his body like a furnace.
Sleep is impossible.
I stare at the ceiling. Count the cracks in the plaster. Try to recite the periodic table. Anything to keep from thinking about how easy it would be to roll over. To press my body against his. To feel his hands on me, his mouth on me, his length inside me?—
Ugh, stop already Jessica. Get your shit together.
“Jess?” His voice is rough in the darkness. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You’re shivering.”
I am. I hadn’t noticed, but now that he’s mentioned it, I can feel the tremors running through me. The storm has turned the air cold and damp. The thin jersey isn’t doing much to keep it out.
“I’m fine,” I repeat.
The mattress shifts. I feel him moving closer, his body heat bleeds across the space between us.
“Griffin.”
“Just warming you up.” His voice is careful. Controlled. “Nothing else. I promise.”
And he keeps his word. Griffin doesn’t touch me. He just… lies there, close enough that his warmth seeps into my shivering frame. Close enough that if I shifted back just a few inches, my ass would be pressed against his.
It takes everything in me to hold perfectly still, but I do. The storm rages outside and in me too.
