The tremor in her voice breaks me. I draw her to my chest and wrap my arms around her, offering comfort the only way I know how. “What if I lay down with you?” No way in hell we’ll both fit on my couch, and I’m not leaving her alone. At least in my king-size bed, there will be space between us.
She grips my shirt. “I’m sorry I’m such trouble.”
“You’re not any trouble, Camille.”
“I’m usually much more put together.”
I think back to the photo I first saw of her, and the forced smile. How often has she put on that facade? Her entire life? “I’ll be strong for you tonight, sweetheart.”
Camille lets me lead her back to bed. I tuck her in under the covers, then lay down on the other side.Once she falls asleep, I’ll slip out and lie on the couch.
“Are you going to sleep in your clothes?” she asks, watching me in the near darkness of the room.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You are. Because I know you’re accommodating me.”
“It’s my job.”
She looks down at where she’s worrying the sheet between her fingers. Then she turns to her other side and whispers, “Good night, Bronco. Thank you for rescuing me.”
Silence settles between us.
Five minutes pass. Ten.
She hasn’t moved, but I know she’s still awake. Maybe sleeping in my clothes really is making her uncomfortable. Like some part of her can’t trust that I’ll stay.
Fuck it. She needs sleep and if it will help, I’ll get comfortable.
I slide from the bed and remove my shirt and jeans. Socks too. Lifting the covers, I crawl back into bed and do my damndest not to touch her.
All my plansof leaving after she fell asleep evaporated once I settled down. As dawn breaks over the ridge and floods the room with light, it pulls me from sleep.
I should have closed the damn curtains before going to bed last night.
Grumbling, I sink back into the warmth of the bed and breathe deep, the scent of roses filling my senses. Silky hair tickles my chin as I bury my nose in the scent, pulling her warm body even closer. Her legs are tangled with mine, as they should be, and I’m wrapped around her sweet body, more content than I’ve ever felt.
Her ass nudges back against my morning wood, drawing me further from sleep.
Trailing my lips over the shell of her ear, I work my way down, pressing soft kisses to her neck and fill my hands with her curves. She smells so good. Like a garden with a touch of sweetness. My hands skate over flannel as I finally blink my eyes open, ready to roll her under me and wake her up with my mouth.
I freeze.
Sleepy, ice-blue eyes open as I hover over her, caging her in with my arms.
Camille’s hand raises to my cheek, petting my beard. “You stayed,” she murmurs, still half asleep.
I lean into her touch before I can check the reaction.
What the hell am I doing? I’m supposed to protect her, not turn her into my breakfast. My cock pulses with approval. I roll away before she can feel it and dig the heel of my hand in my eye, trying to remove the last of the sleep.
“Bronco?” Camille turns on her side and props her head on her hand. An auburn lock falls forward over her shoulder, and my fingers twitch, wanting to touch it.
“Sorry, princess. Didn’t mean to wake you... like that.”
She licks her lips, watching me. “I liked it.”
Jesus. She can’t say things like that. “It’s not appropriate.” I shove out of bed, and cold air hits my skin. I’m burning up with this unwelcome ache, so the sudden shift in temperature is perfect.
