And then I register something else. Something pressing against my hip where I'm sitting in his lap.
He's hard.
Very hard.
Heat floods my face, and I try to scramble off him. "Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't—"
His hands catch my hips, holding me in place, firm enough that I can't move.
"Florrie." There's amusement in his voice. "Breathe."
"But you're—" I can't even say it. My face feels like it's on fire.
"I'm aware." His mouth quirks slightly. "It's morning. There’s a beautiful woman on my lap with thighs that make me thirsty in a way I’ve never known. It’s basic physiology."
"Still. I should move. Let you..." I gesture vaguely, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"Should you?" His thumbs stroke slow circles on my hips through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. "Or do you want to?"
The question stops me cold.
Do I want to move?
I should. Obviously I should. This whole situation is already insane enough without adding... whatever this is to the mix.
But if I’m being honest with myself…I don't want to move.
I feel safe here. Which is absurd, given that he's the one who trapped me in this situation in the first place. But his arms are warm and solid around me, his heartbeat steady under my palm, and for the first time in hours, I'm not afraid.
"I don't know," I admit quietly.
His eyes search mine, and I watch something shift in his expression. The amusement fades, replaced by something darker. Hungrier.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he says.
"I'm thinking this is insane." The words tumble out. "I'm thinking I barely know you. I'm thinking that last night I was on a terrible date with a guy who couldn't remember my name, and now I'm sitting in your lap in your house with your..." I gesture vaguely at his obvious arousal. "And I should be terrified. I should be trying to escape. But I'm not, and I don't understand why."
"Why aren't you terrified?" His voice is quiet, careful.
"Because..." I swallow hard. "Because you make me feel safe. Which is crazy, because you're dangerous and you've essentially kidnapped me and you're planning to get me pregnant. But when you hold me, I feel..." I trail off, not sure how to explain it.
"How do you feel, Florrie?"
"Good." The admission feels like jumping off a cliff. "I feel good. Better than I've felt in a really long time."
His hands tighten on my hips. "How long?"
"I don't know. A year? Maybe more?" I look away, embarrassed. "Dating has been...awful. Every guy I meet is either too pushy or too distant or just not...I don't know. Not right. Like Brad last night. He seemed perfect online, but in person he was all hands and expectations and—"
"He touched you without permission." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No. Not really. Just made me uncomfortable. Made me feel like I owed him something just for buying me drinks." I risk a glance back at Leon's face. "You haven't done that. Made me feel like I owe you, I mean. Even though objectively, I do, since you saved my life and all."
"You don't owe me anything." His voice is firm. "This situation isn't your fault. You didn't ask for any of this."
